


Hope on the Edge of Nowhere

by newbie93



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: F/M, FitzSimmons Secret Santa, The FitzSimmons Network, a ton of FitzSimmons, and a little more, because I'm terrible at this, but also I guess some fluff, but is it REAL fluff?!, not gonna lie: there's some angst, some JemmaWill, these tags started off pretty bad and are steadily getting worse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-30
Updated: 2015-12-30
Packaged: 2018-05-10 10:27:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 29,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5582206
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/newbie93/pseuds/newbie93
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When trapped alone on a deserted planet, there’s little else to do other than wonder about the life one could live OFF said planet. AKA Jemma’s time on Maveth is spent imagining all of the things she wishes she could experience with Fitz on Earth. AKA #2: a series of pseudo oneshots (which actually intermingle) that depict the future scenarios with Fitz that Jemma imagined during her 6 months on Maveth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Conversation

**Author's Note:**

> This is my FitzSimmons Secret Santa gift for ‘theboyfallsfromthesky’ on Tumblr, who requested, “A series of future scenarios with Fitz that Jemma kept dreaming about while she was stranded on the alien world.”
> 
> Each chapter is essentially a different one of these aforementioned, “future scenarios.” I ended up doing kind of a compare/contrast type thing between these fantasies and the events on the planet meaning there IS some Will/Jemma but rest assured, the focus of this fic is FitzSimmons. But you can’t write about a planet with two inhabitants without actually writing about both of ‘em so there ya have it!
> 
> Hopefully I did the prompt at least a teeny, tiny, bit of justice and you enjoy the read!
> 
> PS. Most of this fic is strictly rated T but Chapter 8 (Unison) is more M-rated and Chapter 10 (Tyke) could I guess conceivably be considered… low-M? Depending on the reader? Vague, non-detailed (IMO), sex is present is basically what I’m saying. But I’m also so bad at knowing what ratings apply to what so, sincerely, correct me if I’m wrong and I’ll make sure my ‘heads up’ is more accurate.

The silence is all consuming and Jemma can’t think of anything she wants more than to simply _hear._ Something or someone, it doesn’t matter which so long as it masks the sound of her own wheezing. She struggles atop the dunes, pulling in labored breaths as she pushes herself to make it _just a little further,_ and realizes, not for the first time, how much lonelier life is when surrounded by silence.

She’s been alone on this planet for nearly a week now, meaning she has had an abundance of time to be tortured by her thoughts and memories. Evidently that monolith was really just a conductor for self-reflection because it’s all Jemma seems to be capable of doing in an attempt to distract herself from the gnawing hunger, unbearable thirst, and crushing loneliness. 

She’s been lonely before, that’s a fact that is as undeniable to Jemma as oxygen and water being a necessity for human survival, but never quite to this degree. 

Her time at Hydra had been crippling, separated by her friends and family and forced to work for some of the most monstrous beings she’s ever come across. Until now _that_ had been the loneliest she’s ever been. But that was a choice, a conscience decision. _She_ had left S.H.I.E.L.D. for Hydra. _She_ had left Fitz to help him heal. _She_ had decided that the best thing for everyone in that moment was for her to be far, far, away. 

Now she’s even further. 

And it most decidedly was _not_ her choice. 

She _wanted_ to stay at S.H.I.E.L.D. She _wanted_ to stay with Fitz and work on healing _them._ She _wanted_ the best thing for everyone to involve sticking together until the end. 

Instead, the universe and its sick sense of humor decided that what Jemma Simmons wants isn’t what Jemma Simmons is going to get. 

So she’s _here,_ away from everything she holds dear, and finding herself slowly succumbing to the crushing silence and all-consuming loneliness. 

She misses her friends, her family, her _Fitz._

Each passing second makes the longing for home that much greater and Jemma reflects on all of the people and things she wishes she could be surrounded by in this moment. 

Hunter and his inane chatter. 

Bobbi and her sage words of wisdom. 

Coulson and his orders. 

Skye’s unending vocalization of encouragement. 

May’s silence that is so different than the silence here because it’s a silence that speaks all of the words that can’t quite be vocalized.

Fitz. 

Fitz’s Scottish brogue in any way that she can hear it: yelling at her in pent-up frustration, brokenly whispering his doubts and insecurities, bantering and arguing for the sole purpose of riling her up. Laughing, crying, conversing. _Anything._ She wouldn’t even mind hearing his horrid impression of her. 

She just wants to hear him period. 

-O- 

“Oh _honestly_ Fitz!” 

He’s cradling a beer on the other side of the couch, glaring at her in agitation while the others hide their snickers behind their own drinks of choice as they watch on with rapt attention. 

“Do you have any bloody idea how close I came to eating a ruddy _feline_ liver Simmons? It was not two inches away from my lunch! _Not two inches._ ” 

Jemma releases another groan, paired with an eye roll for the others’ benefit, and downs her beer under the assumption that Fitz is only _just_ beginning this evening’s ranting… meaning alcohol is a necessity at this point. The assumption is only confirmed for Jemma by the next words that leave Fitz’s mouth. 

“ _Oh Fitz!_ ” 

Jemma’s eyes narrow the moment she hears her best friend’s deplorable attempt at mimicry and she straightens where she’s sitting on the couch to slowly turn her head to face him. 

“ _It’s perfectly fine. All materials have been properly stored and there’s no risk of contamination.”_

The others are laughing at the falsetto he’s speaking in and Jemma grits her teeth at the pleased smirk on Fitz’s face as he continues his peacocking. She snatches another bottle from the coffee table as his voice manages to raise another octave and silently debates how she can possibly retaliate. She makes eye contact with Skye, the only one wise enough not to laugh at the awful vocal representation of her, and Jemma raises a brow in question as she silently asks her friend for ideas. 

A sly smile works its way across Skye’s face and Jemma feels a flare of excitement at the fact that her friend has an idea. 

“And, just out of curiosity, what did Fitz sound like during this whole exchange?” 

Jemma feels her face pale at Skye’s question because the other girl _knows_ that she can’t even do a _terrible_ Scottish accent, attempting one would just further solidify _her_ as the butt of the joke, and she’s just about to play it off when she notices the face that her friend is making unbeknownst to the others who are all staring at _her._

It actually kind of looks like… 

Jemma grins in realization, finally understanding what it is Skye is getting at, and takes a long pull from her drink before leaning back against the couch with a demure smile. “What did Fitz sound like? I think it was something along the lines of…” 

She releases the highest pitch scream she can muster and watches with unrestrained glee as Hunter chokes on his beer while Bobbi’s water begins to stream out of her nose. Even Mack is chuckling at her girlish scream, something that Jemma is inordinately pleased by, and she turns to smirk at Fitz over her beer bottle, reveling in the sight of his red cheeks and flaming ears. 

“I don’t sound like that.” 

He’s glaring petulantly at her and Jemma just raises an eyebrow before turning to look at Skye for back up. 

“You 100% sound like that Fitz.” 

He turns to the other girl with narrowed brows and a look that is half astonishment and half irritation, and leans forward slightly to get closer to Skye when he says, “And how the bloody hell would _you_ know?” 

Skye’s own brow raises at the question and she lowers her beer from her mouth as she stares at Fitz with a knowing look. “Umm… do you not remember last year’s mop-prank disaster?” 

Somehow Fitz grows even _redder_ at the reminder and Jemma begins giggling herself at the sight. He sinks lower into the couch, staring at his beer bottle and tugging at the peeling label, and Jemma decides that she’s had her fun for the evening. She scoots across the couch, pressing her side against his and leaning forward to whisper conspiratorially into his ear. 

“Do your Lance impression.” 

He turns to her slowly and Jemma suddenly realizes how close they are to each other. Two years ago she wouldn’t have thought anything by their proximity, it would have been their norm, but after the past year of deliberately trying to keep their distance, Jemma is overwhelmed by how _right_ it feels to be back within Fitz’s orbit. 

He blinks sluggishly at her for a few long moments, seemingly registering their nearness and coming to similar realizations as she, before a slow smile works its way across his face and he turns to the others as Jemma shifts slightly to make herself more comfortable against him. 

“Well… I suppose I _might_ have sounded a bit like that. But at least you can _understand_ me when I talk.” He turns his head and fixes a very pointed look at Hunter and the blatant implication causes the other Brit, who is already three sheets to the wind, to let out an indignant squawk as his ex-wife-turned-girlfriend begins to cackle at his side. 

“Th’ ruddy ‘ell is _‘at_ s’posed mean you bluh’ee wanker?!” 

The question causes an uproar, all agents bowing over in laughter as Lance continues to sputter out insults and lamentations that nobody can quite decipher. Skye is throwing her own impression of him into the fray and the frankly _terrible_ British accent causes another round of laughter. 

Jemma is tucked into Fitz’s side, on the cusp of tears as she cackles at Hunter’s drunken rambling, and she luxuriates in the feeling of his own laughter as it reverberates through his chest where she can feel it against her cheek. She pulls away slightly, just long enough to wipe at her eyes to prevent any tears from falling, before falling back against him and sipping at her beer with a smile. 

She’s not even aware how plastered she is against him until she notes the way that Bobbi and Skye share a pointed look and pleased smiles. Jemma stiffens slightly at the sight because their lack of subtlety likely means that even someone as oblivious as Fitz has caught on to the fact that she’s half on top of him on this squished loveseat. She feels him tense slightly and shuts her eyes tightly as she waits for him to awkwardly excuse himself in order to put more distance between them. She feels him begin to shift and shuts her eyes even tighter, now because she’s worried that she might actually cry when he extracts himself. 

They’d been doing _so_ much better lately, chatting amicably and teasing each other as they would have before all of the fiascos they’ve faced this year, to the point where Jemma had forgotten that doing _better_ doesn’t necessarily mean they’re doing _well._ The thought causes the constant pang of hurt and pain to flare up and Jemma knows that it’ll only grow when Fitz politely increases the space between them. 

Her eyes fly open in surprise when, instead of extracting himself and pulling away, Fitz merely shifts his arm and allows Jemma to fall more comfortably against his side as he continues to exchange barbs with Hunter. 

She feels her heart beat wildly in her chest at the gesture, realizing that it’s the physical indicator that, while they still haven’t discussed his three words from the bottom of the ocean and her three words from the locker room, they _will_ at some point. Jemma grins into her next sip and doesn’t even _try_ to hide her pleased smile when she spots Bobbi and Skye exchanging an _actually_ subtle high-five behind Hunter’s back.

She turns her head slightly to look up at Fitz, heart seemingly expanding when he shifts his own gaze to match her own. She loves talking with him, always has even when their conversations tend to be bickering more than anything, but almost prefers their silent exchanges. 

The moments that Skye compares to telepathy, where everything that remains unspoken is hinted at when brown eyes meet blue.


	2. Vitamin D

She’s been sequestered in the base for a straight week, working on a near impossible project that has caused sleepless nights and days spent locked in the lab. What’s worse is the fact that this impossible project is strictly biological so, while always a decent sounding board, Fitz could only justify helping her for so long before Coulson less than subtly suggested he work on his _own_ projects instead. 

Jemma looks at her notes now, each line of jotted words and equations messier than the last, and lets out an aggravated groan at the fact that she’s _still_ stuck. She taps her fingers against the lab table, nibbling at her pen as she desperately tries to force her brain to see whatever it is she’s missing. “ _Dammit._ ” 

“Still no luck?” 

Jemma startles at the voice, looking up in surprise and catching sight of Fitz leaning against the lab bench opposite hers. She glances warily around the lab, noticing for the first time that it’s completely empty save for her, before looking back at Fitz and rolling her eyes while shooting him a derisive look. 

“There’s no such thing as luck.” 

Fitz of course rolls his eyes right back, scoffing slightly at her admittedly petulant rebuttal before moving closer to lean against the table _she’s_ been working at. 

“Fine. No _breakthrough_ then?” 

Jemma lets out a pitiful moan in favor of actually having to articulate her inability to work something out and feels her frustration near a boiling point as Fitz moves to give her an affectionate pat to the shoulder. 

“Maybe it’s time for a break Jem.”

His words are hesitant, as though he _knows_ how absurd she’ll find them, and Jemma turns to shoot him an incredulous look as she immediately begins to shake her head. “Absolutely not. This thing has kept me awake at night and I’m _so_ close Fitz. _So_ close to figuring this out. I’m not leaving until I do.” 

She turns back to her mountain of notes and failed experiments with a sigh, gazing glassily at the latest attempt and once again feeling her frustration simmering beneath the surface of her skin. It’s silent for a few long moments and Jemma wonders if her snappishness had caused Fitz to flee from her irritation. A small part of her is disappointed by the thought, desperately _wanting_ to spend time with her yet-to-be quantified _person_ yet still quite unable to detach herself from this project. 

Then she sees movement in her peripheral vision and feels a small bit of relief at the realization that Fitz is still by her side. She’s in such an odd state, the lack of sleep and lack of solutions causing her emotions to run high, and she’s a bit startled by the complete and utter comfort she feels simply by being in Fitz’s presence. 

Said comfort quickly reverts back to exasperation though when he ducks into her line of sight with a knowing smirk and says, “If you can’t solve a problem…” 

Jemma rolls her eyes at the familiar words, shoving an errant lock of hair out of her face as she cuts Fitz off. “Sleep on it. Yes I _know_ Fitz but that requires actually being _able_ to sleep.” 

It’s silent for a few long moments and, after no response, Jemma looks up to find Fitz looking at her with an expression that she can only describe as condescendingly disappointed. She furrows her brows at the sight and places her pen on the lab counter, too curious to bother pretending she isn’t. “What?” 

Fitz lets out a small sigh before ducking his head down and scuffing his shoe against the floor. “Oh nothing. I just thought we were back on track is all, with the whole finishing each other’s sentences thing.” 

_Thought we were back on track._  

The statement causes something in Jemma’s stomach to lurch and all of the blood to drain from her face. Her breathing becomes shallow as she tries to make sense of Fitz’s words and realizes that, while she’s been under the impression that they’ve done a decent job of mending their friendship, to _Fitz_ she’s still just letting him down. 

“What?” 

The word comes out as a broken whisper and Fitz’s eyes widen as he takes in what Jemma is certain is a devastated expression on her face. He steps forward quickly, barely giving her time to register that he’s moved before he’s placing his hands on her shoulders and staring at her with an expression of assurance. 

“What I was _going_ to say is, if you can’t solve a problem… take a break and come outside with me.” 

He tacks on a bashful little smile at the end, and Jemma releases the breath she’d been holding at the realization that Fitz’s comment had been meant as a joke. She nods shakily at him before she processes his most _recent_ words and quickly begins to shake her head instead. 

“Fitz I _can’t._ I’ve made no progress on this because I _still_ have no clue what to do about th…” 

Her words die in her throat at the feeling of Fitz gently squeezing her shoulders and the sight of him stepping close enough to her that she can make out ever varying shade of blue swirling around his irises. 

“It’s a lovely day which you would _know_ if you actually set foot outside every once in awhile. C’mon, just ten minutes! You need your vitamin D Jemma. You’ve been lookin’ quite… _pasty_ lately.” 

The cheeky git shoots her a smug smile at that and Jemma’s eyes narrow of their own accord at the slight challenge, and blatant insult, behind Fitz’s words. 

“Pasty? _Really?_ And when did _you_ become so sun-kissed Leopold?” 

His smile falters for a moment, whether it’s at the memory of the _last_ time such words were exchanged in the lab or at the use of his first name Jemma isn’t certain, but in the next moment his grin is back in place and his thumbs are unconsciously rubbing small circles along her collarbone. 

Jemma shivers at the contact and it’s only _then_ that Fitz seems to realize their proximity and the movement of his hands. He yanks his hands away (much to Jemma’s disappointment) as though her shoulders are the fires of the alleged Hell that everyone is so terrified of and pushes them into his pockets as his cheeks begin to redden. 

“Sorry I didn’t mean to… Anyways… yeah.” He pauses for a moment, blinking wildly before tilting his head adorably and giving her a confused look. “What was I saying again?” 

Jemma can’t help but smile at the way Fitz’s earlier cockiness is almost _instantly_ replaced by this flustered demeanor and she leans back against the counter, crossing her arms and raising a brow at her friend. 

“Something about confusing the words alabaster and porcelain with _pasty_.” 

Fitz releases a chuff of laughter at this, shaking his head in the negative before grinning back at her and saying, “Takes a pasty person to know a pasty person, Jemma. And I _know_ pasty. C’mon. Ten minutes.” 

He holds his hand out to her and the action is so surprising and exciting to Jemma that she doesn’t hesitate to grasp it. They’d been so tactile before everything had gone to shit, brushing shoulders in the lab and running fingers through hair outside of it, and it’s something that Jemma has missed dearly. The _months_ of awkward conversation and strict, “no contact,” policy that Fitz had silently put into place had caused a constant ache in her. Jemma’s base instinct now is to touch Fitz whenever he gives her the opportunity… including now. 

His hand is like a cliché beacon calling her home and Jemma feels the tension leave her body the moment her fingers lace through his own. 

She doesn’t miss the way that Fitz’s cheeks and ears suddenly seem to burn a bright red when her thumb seemingly unconsciously begins to rub against his skin. Not wanting to draw further attention to this rather momentous reparation of their relationship, Jemma instead tightens her grip and narrows her eyes as she says, “ _Ten_ minutes Fitz. That’s it.” 

He releases another small laugh before adjusting his expression to one of mock seriousness, nodding sagely at her in mocking jest. He tugs at her hand, pulling her out of the lab and quickening his pace the moment their feet hit the Playground hallway. In another few seconds they’re running, sprinting past agents as they make their way through the maze of corridors, and Jemma realizes that the giggles echoing against the walls are her own. 

Only pausing to haphazardly hold their lanyards up to the control panel of the base’s exit, Fitz and Jemma barrel through the last few steps until they’re standing in an unmemorable side alley in the blazing sun. 

She squints against the harsh light, too used to the dim fluorescents of the base, and momentarily basks in the warmth that hits her skin. When she shifts her gaze and spots Fitz attempting to shield his eyes from the rays, Jemma lets out a joyful laugh and tugs at his hand. The pleasant feeling that consumes her when he willingly follows her without question is one that Jemma has been experiencing more often than not where Fitz is concerned as of late, and she finds that it’s one that she hopes to encounter on a more permanent basis. 

She pulls him out of the alley, headed in a general direction with no real concept as to where they’re going, and swings their hands between them as Fitz begins to regale her with the merits of the glowing ball of gas above them and the consequences of sun deficiency. She throws in her own facts whenever Fitz takes a breath and soon after their conversation is ebbing and flowing, topics changing left and right as they stroll through the area and appreciate the good weather. 

At one point Fitz manages to successfully plead his way into an ice cream shop on the corner and Jemma suddenly finds a cone in one hand and Fitz’s fingers still tightly twined in the other. There’s something to be said for licking ice cream beneath the beaming sun with one’s best friend (and more than that) and Jemma finds her mind drifting away from work towards whatever uproarious topic Fitz decides to bring up next. 

She’s not upset that fifteen minutes into their walk she and Fitz have already grown pink from the sun, she’s not upset when Fitz trips and somehow manages to spill his milkshake on the both of them, and she’s not even upset when, nearly an hour after leaving, she finally makes it back into the lab and still finds herself stumped by the project in front of her. Instead, she happily rummages through her notes and feels assured that, sooner or later, she’ll find the solution… even if she has to take a few more Vitamin D breaks with Fitz to do it. 

-O- 

This place, whatever and wherever it may be, is still shrouded in darkness. 

She’s shed more than her fair share of tears over the fact and has yet to fully grasp that, for however long she’s stuck here, she’ll not be seeing the sun. It’s a daunting thought and is one that feels like another burden threatening to crush her. The darkness seems to be a physical representation of the hopelessness and despair that has permeated its way through her, and Jemma bitterly wonders how simply _seeing_ would aid in her survival. 

Because that’s what she’s doing: surviving. 

Barely. 

Her naïve hope that S.H.I.E.L.D. would pick her up from her landing destination had faded _days_ ago and now she’s blindly making her way across the sandy landscape in search of _anything._

Food, water, something that might aid in her getting _home._

She’s yet to stumble across anything other than her own two feet and the darkness shrouding this planet has slowly begun to consume her as well. 

There is no light in this darkness. 

The thought causes a fresh wave of tears to spring to her eyes and she laments the fact that she’s already on the cusp of breaking. Each day she assumes she’s experienced a new low and each night (wholly indistinguishable) she realizes that she will only get lower. 

This is _today’s_ low, she thinks bitterly as she sluggishly makes her way across the terrain and keeps her eyes trained on the horizon that is barely visible. This lightless planet is as close to a black hole as Jemma has experienced and she feels a fresh wave of sadness and yearning for the sun. 

_There is one light._

The thought comes unbidden to her mind and Jemma bites her lip in contemplation as she wonders whether or not it’s worth it to turn on her phone. It’s a very quick debate between the rational and emotional parts of her, with the latter winning out the moment the image of Fitz pops into her mind. 

She lets herself fall against a dune and carefully extracts her phone from her makeshift satchel. She pulls away the cloth she’d wrapped around it and holds her breath as she presses down on the power button, eyes watering at the sight of the small, white, apple and tears falling at the background image of her, Skye, and Fitz from their days on the Bus. 

She peers at it for a few moments before shakily moving her thumb to the camera roll and rapidly moving past the images of the planet, only pausing when she comes across the video that she’d been searching for. 

She presses play with a small sniffle and feels the tears gathering at the sight of her friends celebrating her birthday without her. The tears fall when the camera shifts and a smiling Fitz greets her with well wishes and an, “It’s not the same without you.” 

Jemma remembers crying the _first_ time she’d watched the video message, knowing that Fitz would soon realize that she _couldn’t_ say hello to her mum and dad for him since she hadn’t actually gone home at all. _Nothing_ was the same without Fitz and, while her time at Hydra had made that pretty clear, sitting alone in the dark on this empty planet really seems to cement the fact.

 

She watches the video a few more times before flitting quickly through her photos and shutting her phone off with a small sigh and another sniffle. The moment the screen blackens, Jemma is once again bathed in an endless darkness and she realizes that, in the fleeting moments where she’d gotten to look at her friends, look at _Fitz,_ she’d forgotten that she was trapped in a perpetual shadow.

 

There is _some_ light in this darkness and, as always, for Jemma, the light is Fitz.


	3. Dinner.

She bites into the flesh of the white, tentacled, creature and grimaces at the taste and texture that fills her mouth. It’s bitter, unlike anything she’s ever been forced to ingest before, and with each rotation of her mouth she can feel the tiny grains of sand that are inescapable on this planet. 

It’s absolutely revolting, not a meal she’d wish on her worst enemy, and the thought once again sends Jemma’s mind down a dangerous path of fantasy and longing. It’s become a daily occurrence, hourly if she’s being honest, but Jemma can’t seem to stop her mind from conjuring images of a meal she would _much_ rather be eating. 

She’s often prided herself on her practicality, her innate ability to determine the plausibility of something within a minute of approaching the problem, and has very seldom wished to be one of the starry eyed dreamers that she’d come across in her youth. She _likes_ being realistic, revels in knowledge and scientific evidence, and never gave much credence to wishing for things and imagining alternate realities when only _one_ actually exists. 

But, while on this hell of a planet, Jemma has come to realize that wild fantasies and an active imagination can be just as important as rationale and proof. Because, while her knowledge of certain things has been pivotal to her survival thus far, Jemma learned pretty quickly that it’s not her understanding of fire, climate, and nutrition that has kept her going. 

Much like her time at Hydra, it’s her thoughts of Fitz that make Jemma think that if she can just _hang on a little longer,_ this dinner of a grimy alien creature will be worth it. 

Because _this_ dinner isn’t _their_ dinner, which Jemma couldn’t stop herself from thinking about if she tried. 

-O- 

“You’re sure the dress isn’t too much?” 

She looks at her reflection, nervously running a hand over the skirt of the simple garment she’d put on for the occasion, and meets Skye’s eyes in the mirror as she bites her lip in contemplation. She sees Skye roll her eyes with a groan and turns to face her head on as her friend sits up from where she’s been laying on Jemma’s bed and moves to stand in front of her. 

“Oh my god Simmons, how many times do I have to…” Skye pauses, taking a deep breath before moving closer and placing her hands reassuringly on Jemma’s shoulders, ducking her head slightly to make proper eye contact. “You look _great._ The dress is _not_ too much… I know that for a fact considering the picture Bobbi texted me earlier of what she’s making Fitz wear.” 

Jemma’s eyebrows raise in interest at this and she feels a blush spread across her cheeks at the knowing look that Skye gives her at her reaction to the vague mention of a dressed up Fitz. 

Her heart has been hammering all day and she’d ended up having to leave the lab early due to her inability to focus on _anything_ other than her _dinner_ with her best friend. Her _date_ with Fitz. The thought causes Jemma’s nerves to flare again and she nervously bites her lip once more before covering her face with her hands and letting out an anguished moan. 

“This is such a terrible idea.” 

The words are muffled but audible enough that Skye’s hands instantly tighten around her shoulders as she cries, “What?!” 

Jemma pulls her hands away from her face and looks miserably at the other woman as all of her fears over this entire situation come pouring out of her. “Everything’s going to go wrong, I’m going to do something to mess everything up, and I will _once again_ lose my best friend. We’re _finally_ in a decent place after the whole Hydra debacle and I… I don’t want to muck it up.” 

She can feel her eyes moisten at the thought of spending even another _second_ in the uncomfortable limbo that she and Fitz had spent the past year in and, not for the first time, Jemma wonders if she should have just kept her _maybe there is_ to herself. She must look as outwardly miserable and anxious as she feels, because Skye’s eyes immediately soften and in the next moment Jemma is being pulled into a tight hug. 

She reciprocates it immediately, clutching at Skye gratefully and momentarily wondering when she’d last shared such a moment with her friend. The past few months have been chaotic, and Jemma feels a brief pang at the realization that more than just her friendship with _Fitz_ has been strained as of late. She tightens her grip around Skye, hoping that all of her unspoken apologies and love can be heard in the silence, and lets out a relieved sigh when her friend’s own arms squeeze around her shoulders. 

When the two finally part, there’s a soft smile on Skye’s face and Jemma takes another shaky breath as she prepares herself for the pep talk that she desperately needs. 

“Jemma, hey, listen to me. You’re a literal genius with _literal_ million dollar ideas. And as cool as the dwarves are, and as kick-butt as the ICERs may be, _this_ is one _hundred_ percent the best idea you and Fitz have ever had.” 

“What if we don’t have anything to talk about? Or what if halfway through he changes his mind and realizes he doesn’t _want_ to date me? Or… or what if…” 

“ _Simmons.”_

The exasperation in Skye’s voice is enough to stop Jemma’s tangent from growing anymore wild and she shoots her friend a pleading look. Luckily, Skye is one of the few people on this base who is actually capable of picking up social cues, and grips Jemma’s face between her hands to hold her attention. 

“First of all, in what world would you and Fitz _ever_ run out of things to talk about? Answer: only in a world where Fitz wouldn’t want to date you. AKA _no_ world. You two can talk about literally anything under the sun and Fitz looks at you like you _are_ the sun so… if those are really your two biggest concerns, you honestly have nothing to work about.” 

The sincerity in Skye’s expression does wonders for Jemma’s nerves and she actually _believes_ the other woman. Of _course_ they won’t run out of things to say. They never have before, minus their own awkwardness in the past few months where they’ve had too _much_ to say and just haven’t known how to start the conversation, and tonight will be no different. 

And Fitz… he _does_ look at her sometimes as though she’s the center of his universe. It’s not something she’s necessarily been conscious of but… now that Skye has mentioned it, she feels a bit foolish for not having noticed it sooner. The combination of Skye’s assurances and her own realizations seems to instantly settle the churning in Jemma’s stomach. 

This _is_ a good idea. 

After years of partnership and friendship, she’s _finally_ ready to see what more she and Fitz have the potential to become. Fitz has _always_ been more than that, more than anything and anyone to her, and Jemma thinks it’s high time to find out just _how much_ more they can be. How much more she _wants_ them to be. 

Which is quite a bit now that she’s given herself enough time to think about it. 

She takes a steadying breath, nodding at Skye to assure her friend that she’s no longer on the cusp of spiraling into a nervous implosion, and runs her hands over her dress once more. Jemma casts another look at her reflection in the mirror, taking in the loose curls and the simplistic elegance of the white sundress, and feels a small smile cross her face as her nerves transform into a slow-burning excitement. 

Her shift in mood is apparent because the next thing Jemma knows, Skye is squealing and clapping her hands in excitement, ushering Jemma to the chair in front of the vanity and murmuring about final touches. 

By the time Skye _finally_ deems her dinner-date ready, Jemma’s nerves have once more bubbled to the surface. She leaves her room with Skye tugging at her hand and only makes it a few steps before she sees Bobbi and Lance, the former sitting in her wheelchair even though Jemma had given her explicit instructions _not to leave her room,_ and the latter standing dotingly by her side. The two are wearing matching grins and, though Bobbi’s seems to be tinged with exhaustion, it’s nearly as blinding as the one on Skye’s face. 

When Jemma pulls up a foot away from the couple, she silently awaits their approval and blushes at Lance’s low whistle and the wink that Bobbi pairs with her thumbs up. 

“Ready to get on the roller coaster to see if the ride’s worth it?” 

Jemma ponders the other spy’s knowing question for a few moments, wondering how best to answer it after everything that’s happened since the _last_ time her friend had used the analogy to describe her relationship with Fitz. Something settles in her chest as she reflects on the general awfulness of the past year, the awkwardness and stilted conversation, and she realizes that she never would have fought this hard for something if she didn’t already have a pretty good idea what the final outcome would be. 

“I’ve been on the roller coaster for a long time now. I just… didn’t quite realize it. And the ride’s _always_ been worth it.” 

The words leave her mouth almost instinctively, and in the following silence Jemma realizes that, though she’s often right about most things, never in her life has she been more right than she is now. Bobbi seems to agree because her smile softens, eyes flickering briefly to Hunter before returning to Jemma, and she nods her head in understanding. 

Skye and Hunter seem just as aware as the implication behind her words because Lance murmurs, “Right you are love,” and Skye tightens her grip on Jemma’s hand as she bites her lip in happiness. 

It’s silent for another few moments, the group of four just exchanging smiles that range from excitedly nervous to full-blown giddiness before Bobbi tilts her head down the hallway and says, “He’s waiting by the car.” 

The statement causes the reality of the situation to come crashing back to her and Jemma sucks in a shaky breath, coupling it with an equally shaky nod of the head, before giving Skye’s hand one last squeeze and making her way towards the doors leading to the cargo bay. 

Each step seems to be louder than a canon, and yet, still not quite loud enough to drown out the sound of her thumping heart. She can feel her palms begin to moisten and clenches her hands into fists at her side as she reaches the door separating her from Fitz. With one last breath, Jemma pushes forward and lets her eyes flit around the wide expanse, ignoring the various QuinJets and machinery in favor of looking for her best friend in the world. 

She finally spots him pacing in front of one of the SHIELD vehicles and feels her breath catch at the sight. The fluttering in her stomach seems to increase immediately and Jemma’s eyes rove over her friend as he moves across the floor of the Playground. His hands are in constant motion, wringing together before moving to run nervously through his hair in a way that she’s become familiar with over their years together. 

What she’s _not_ familiar with is the tailored suit that Fitz is wearing. 

It seems to fit him perfectly, accentuating his deceptively broad soldiers while drawing the proper amount of attention to his wiry build, and Jemma’s mouth drops open of its own accord at the sight. She suddenly worries that perhaps her dress isn’t _enough_ and is about to turn around and bolt back to her room when Fitz’s eyes lock on her own and he pauses mid-step to gape at her. 

She gives him a nervous little half wave that she immediately regrets, knowing that she likely looks a complete and utter idiot, but her embarrassment dissipates when she watches Fitz literally trip on thin air his haste to return her gesture. Evidently forgetting that pausing mid-step means one’s balance isn’t exactly at a peak, Fitz twists on the one foot still firmly planted on the ground, his momentum spinning him enough that he actually tumbles to the floor in a heap. 

Jemma lets out a small gasp at the sight and shrieks, “Fitz!” as she hurries to help him up off the floor. By the time she reaches him, he’s already standing and brushing off the dust from his new suit. He’s mumbling to himself as his hands run over his dinner jacket and Jemma bites her lip at the sound of his familiar grumbling. 

“Stupid ninny… bloody embarrassing… terrible impression… ruin the ruddy date before it even starts. What a bloody twat.” 

“Fitz.” 

Jemma watches him stiffen, whether it’s at her voice or her hand resting gently on his shoulder, she doesn’t know, and _feels_ him take a sharp breath as he turns slowly to face her. Rather, turns slowly and _doesn’t_ face her. His head is ducked down, eyes focused on his feet, and Jemma feels her heart constrict at the defeated expression on what little of his face she can actually see. 

Her hand is still resting on his shoulder so it doesn’t take much to shift it over a few inches so that her fingers roving over the stubble on his jaw. The contact causes Fitz’s head to snap up in surprise and Jemma gives him a soft smile that quickly transforms into a beaming grin at the close-up view of her best friend in a suit. His eyes blink rapidly and she still knows him well enough to know that he’s likely wondering why she looks so manically happy. 

_Silly Fitz._

Jemma peers at him fondly, fingernails scratching through his scruff before she moves her hands to the lapels of his jacket to brush off the dust that he’d missed. This naturally leads to her straightening his tie, something that she’s done countless times over their years together, and when she decides that the Windsor is perfect, Jemma looks back up at Fitz and takes a slow breath. 

The nerves are still present but the sight of the emotion, the complete and utter adoration, behind Fitz’s eyes makes them disappear as she comprehends that, after tonight, there’s really no turning back. And she doesn’t _want_ to. She wants Fitz as her partner, as her best friend, and as her _more than that._ Because she lied when she’d told him _maybe there is._

There _definitely_ is. 

There’s much to talk about, much to think about, but Jemma is certain that the _more_ that she and Fitz are, though still wholly indescribable, is something that they were always meant to become. She grins at the revelation and moves her hand to grip Fitz’s, looking up at him with a soft smile that she hopes conveys how _right_ this is. 

“Dinner?” 

Fitz’s eyes brighten the moment the word leaves her mouth and Jemma feels her heart begin to hammer at the unbridled happiness that she sees on her best friend’s face. His smile is slow to form, as though his mind is processing her question to make certain he’d heard and interpreted it correctly, but when it’s stretched across his face Jemma is certain what his response will be. 

Sure enough, Fitz nods his head, tightening his grip on her hand and tugging her towards one of the S.H.I.E.L.D. vehicles with a soft, “Dinner.” 

\--- 

The restaurant is more crowded than Jemma would have expected for 9 o’clock on a Tuesday, but she uses it as an excuse to lace her fingers through Fitz’s as they weave their way through the tables and other patrons. When they pull up to a lovely table situated in a dim corner of the room, Fitz extracts his hand from hers and hurriedly steps forward to pull her chair out. 

It’s not an action that Jemma has ever been overly fond of with past dates, but the redness of Fitz’s cheeks and his almost desperate desire to please her causes a warmth to flood through her. Her heart quickens as she murmurs a soft, “Thank you,” and seems to double in speed when Fitz’s hand grazes her shoulder as he pushes the chair in before moving to situate himself in his own. 

They’re silent for a few moments, each perusing the menus in front of them, and Jemma is on the verge of panicking when she spots Fitz’s hand move across the table and tap lightly against her own. The heat that seems to engulf her with that small bit of contact causes Jemma to take in a sharp breath as she looks up and meets Fitz’s tentative expression. 

“I… did you… that is… wine?” 

“Need alcohol to suffer through this?” 

His mouth drops open and the question, eyes widening in horror as he processes her words, and Jemma struggles to keep a straight face as Fitz begins to blink rapidly. “ _What?!_ N… no! That’s not… I just thought you might… we’re not working and you like wine and we’re on a… a date so I thought… I just wanted…” 

Jemma starts giggling at his spluttering and grasps his hand over the table, giving him a look that instantly makes him realize that she was only teasing. The giggles turn into genuine laughter when he tries to petulantly cross his free hand over his chest while tightening his grip on _her_ hand with his other. It’s a humorous juxtaposition, half of him trying to be annoyed with the other part of him refusing to release her hand, and Jemma grins at her friend as he leans forward and skewers her with a look of exasperated disapproval. 

“Yeah real funny. Make fun of the bloke who’s already sweat through two shirts tonight for fear of mucking this up.” 

He ducks his head in embarrassment, refusing to meet her eyes, and the admission causes Jemma’s smile to soften as she reflects back on her _own_ nerves earlier in the day. It’s silent for a few moments, both of them just staring at their entwined hands in slight wonder before Jemma clears her throat and says, “I… I tried on thirty-two outfits this afternoon. Thought Skye was going to kill me.” 

Her confession is soft but Fitz clearly hears it because his eyebrows nearly reach his hairline and his mouth opens again in surprise. She glances up at him quickly and releases a self-deprecating laugh that she pairs with a small shrug of the shoulders before she ducks her head back down and says, “I wanted to look nice.”

 

The silence that follows _this_ confession is a bit daunting but then Jemma hears Fitz clear his throat and looks up in time to watch him murmur, “You… umm. You do. Look nice that is. B… beautiful actually. I mean, you _always_ do but… tonight especially.” 

He’s slightly shrunken in on himself, seemingly nervous and a bit hesitant about how his compliment will be taken, but is looking at her with such sincerity that Jemma immediately begins to flush at his words. She moves her thumb slightly, softly grazing it against his hand, and gives him a smile when he straightens up and looks at her in relief. 

“You look quite dapper yourself. Do I even _want_ to know what Bobbi had to do to get you in this suit?” 

The question causes Fitz to groan before he launches into detailing the horror that is a bored Barbara Morse, and before Jemma knows it they’re sipping wine and exchanging stories about how their meddlesome friends seemed to become even _more_ intrusive today. 

Despite her initial fears, the conversation between them is as natural as it usually is. They jump from topic to topic, barely taking a breath between each, and by the time their waiter is bringing their dessert, she and Fitz are both leaning over the table as close to each other as they can get with their hands loosely entwined and resting beside the now empty bottle of Chardonnay. 

Without saying anything, Jemma and Fitz methodically cut their respective desserts in half, exchanging strawberry shortcake for the chocolate lava, and tuck into the sweets with matching smiles. She’s unsurprised when Fitz immediately starts mixing the two together, and laughs in delight when he pulls his spoon away and has a combination of chocolate sauce and whipped cream around his mouth. 

_Kiss it off._

The thought causes her to start choking on the sweet strawberry she’d just popped in her mouth and Jemma hastily waves Fitz off when he moves towards her to help. When she’s breathing normally again, she shoots him a small smile to get rid of the nervous expression on his face and points at his mouth with her finger to indicate the small mess. 

Of course, it’s _Fitz,_ so, rather than wiping his mouth with a napkin and letting the smallest amount of food go to waste, he moves his thumb to rid his face of the sauce before licking it off with a contented hum. 

_Bloody hell._  

He shoots her a grin that she reciprocates with her own smile and in no time at all Fitz is scribbling his barely legible signature on the check and Jemma is looping her arm through his as they make their way out of the restaurant. Fitz is talking animatedly about a new prototype he wants her opinion on and Jemma finds herself wondering how she ever could have thought that a meal with her best friend in the world could be anything less than perfect.


	4. Kiss

The sleeve of the blouse that she’d turned into a makeshift hair tie kisses against her neck as the wind shifts and swirls around her. It feels almost gentle in comparison to the rough scratching of the sand and Jemma takes a moment to pause her journey and simply take stock of the fleeting seconds where she’s not being battered by sand and dirt. 

The moments are so rare now, far more common than uncommon, and Jemma feels yet another thing break within her at the fact that she’s _appreciative_ of the feeling of her makeshift hair tie tickling against her neck. Something that would have annoyed her to no end in any other circumstance is now something to look forward to, simply because it provides the briefest of respites from the harsh environment that surrounds her. 

She can feel herself becoming foggier, easily distracted by any sight, sound, or feeling that differs from this new norm, and Jemma’s fairly certain that it’s why she’s suddenly on her knees fingering at the dirty fabric of her destroyed blouse. There’s no recollection of falling to the ground, and Jemma wonders how disoriented she must be to not even remember the two seconds it’d taken to go from standing to kneeling. 

As she toys with the frayed edges of the hem, and momentarily marvels at the fact that the blouse can still be classified as _white_ after so long on this sandy planet, Jemma can’t help ponder why her mind’s choice descriptor for the feeling of the fabric against her skin was _kiss._  

-O- 

It’s been four days since their first date and Jemma is beginning to wonder what exactly it is that she has to do to get Leo Fitz to kiss her. 

Their date had lasted well into the night, to the point where Jemma worried they might get grief from Koenig upon their return to the base, and had been without question one of the most enjoyable experiences of Jemma’s life. It was as though they were back to who they’d been before _everything_ while simultaneously catapulting forward into an entirely new territory that remains wholly uncharted. 

It was a date that spoke of a genuine future and, since first zeroing in on the chocolate sauce decorating Fitz’s lips, Jemma had been eager to end said date with a kiss that promised just as much. The walk from the cargo bay down the long residential corridor to her quarters was spent with Jemma excitedly envisioning how Fitz might kiss her goodnight. 

Slow and sweet? Quick and chaste? 

There were endless possibilities and Jemma found that, really, she was open to all of them. 

Which made it that much more frustrating when what _really_ ended up happening was Jemma being left alone, mouth agape, having _not_ been kissed by Fitz. 

What’s more frustrating is the fact that he was _going_ to. He was _going_ to kiss her and she was most certainly going to kiss him back. 

They’d stopped in front of her door, hands still loosely entwined and matching smiles on their faces after a date that made it pretty clear that _this_ wasn’t a mistake. This wasn’t something that would destroy a friendship. It was something that was the culmination of years beside each other and the beginning of even _more_ years together. 

They’d _both_ felt it, both came to the same conclusion at the same time, and the moment of synergy expanded as Jemma’s eyes moved to Fitz’s lips while his moved to hers. He’d taken a step forward, crowding her space and radiating heat, and Jemma hadn’t hesitated to mirror his movement and bring herself as close to him as possible. 

There’d been a brief moment, a silent exchange of questions and answers shared through a fleeting glance, before Jemma tilted her head up while Fitz tilted his down. 

His lips were a few scant millimeters away from hers when Coulson had appeared seemingly out of nowhere and whisked Fitz away for a mission, all but tugging the younger agent behind him, leaving Jemma gaping after them and wondering how the bloody hell the Director of S.H.I.E.L.D. manages to consistently have the worst timing _ever_ where she and Fitz are concerned. 

And the interruptions hadn’t stopped there. 

Already severely lacking where free time is concerned, the few times that she and Fitz had managed to _both_ have a spare moment over the past few days were quickly stolen by unexpected assignments, surprise missions, and group bonding. 

None of which would _normally_ bother Jemma but, considering that all of the above were really just preventing her and Fitz from being able to do _anything_ alone, Jemma is now sufficiently upset with anyone and anything in her vicinity. 

She’s sitting on her bed now, hugging her favorite pillow to her chest lamenting the fact that Coulson’s blasted hand is acting up and in need of Fitz’s attention. She was _supposed_ to be snuggled up in her bed _with Fitz,_ catching up on the Dr. Who episodes that they’d both admitted to refusing to watch during their brief emotional and physical separation, and the fact that she’s instead settling for a down pillow is causing her to grit her teeth in a way that would have her childhood dentist anxiously imploring her to stop. 

She glances at the clock on her bedside table and releases a huff at the sight of the 8:47 that is staring back at her. She bites her lip for a solid minute before deciding that she doesn’t feel like waiting anymore. _For anything._

Over the decade plus of their relationship, Jemma has spent more time waiting on Fitz, but she can’t help but think that he was the one forced to wait where it counts. And now that they’re both _finally_ in the same place, the fact that either of them are waiting for one of the best parts about being in a relationship is one that’s entirely baffling to Jemma. 

She gets up off the bed, tossing her pillow unceremoniously behind her, and strides purposefully out of her bedroom in the direction of the lab. 

She completely ignores Hunter as she walks down the hallway, shoots Skye an apologetic smile as she brushes past her _just_ as the other woman begins to open her mouth, and manages to use all of her self-restraint not to pop in on Bobbi to check in on her recovery. 

While Jemma wouldn’t object to hearing Hunter blather on about football, would likely quite enjoy having some girl-talk with Skye, and genuinely _does_ want to know how Bobbi’s physical therapy is going, she is _far_ more interested in finding her best friend and doing what she’s unofficially wanted to do for quite some time, and _officially_ has wanted to do since she’d been left hanging four days ago. 

She walks determinedly to the lab, full of confidence and excitement that quickly morphs into an anxious nervousness as she catches sight of Fitz through the glass. 

He’s hunched over his latest project, sleeves rolled up and hair in disarray in clear indication that he’s frustrated with whatever it is Coulson’s arm is having issues with, and Jemma bites her lip as she contemplates whether or not this is really the best time for her to… distract him. 

She paces in the hallway for a few minutes, moving past the glass window and spinning on her heel as she tries to work up the courage to just _go in._ She reasons that technically she _is_ co-head of the science division, and it’s technically _her_ lab as well… she doesn’t _need_ an excuse to make her way into the room but, for one reason or another, in this moment it feels like she does. Her hands are clenched at her sides as she argues with herself about the appropriateness of her desired actions and she doesn’t notice that she’s gotten herself an audience until she pivots again and catches sight of Fitz bemusedly leaning back against the lab table and watching her war with herself. 

She pauses mid-step as they make eye contact and feels a thrilling warmth shoot through her at the little wave and tender smile that Fitz shoots her through the glass. 

_That settles that._

Her nerves dissipate immediately and Jemma feels a new determination set in as she strides back to the door of the lab and pushes it open. 

She casts a quick glance around the room, satisfied that there’s only one nameless lab assistant in the corner, before shifting her gaze and zeroing in on Fitz. 

His smile is even brighter now and, though he looks a bit haggard and disheveled from being overworked, Jemma finds that he’s never been quite so attractive to her. She’s overwhelmed by the instantaneous feeling of comfort that being in his presence provides and decides with full conviction that what she’s about to do is indeed the right choice. 

She quickens her pace as she walks towards Fitz through the lab, barely hearing him as he begins speaking, to focused one _watching_ him speak instead. 

“I was wondering how long it’d take you to…” 

Jemma assumes that Fitz planned on finishing his sentence with, “come in here,” but can’t be sure since she presses her lips against his in a heated kiss before he has the chance to prove her right. 

She can feel him momentarily tense at the onslaught, but almost immediately his hands are at her waist and he’s pressing back with as much enthusiasm as she is infusing into this kiss. 

It’s difficult for her to catalogue everything about this moment, the way Fitz’s hands grip her waist and the feeling of his stubble beneath her fingers, but what she’s certain she’ll never forget is the way his mouth molds against hers in a perfectly symbiotic ebb and flow of tongue and lips. 

It’s unlike any kiss she’s experienced before and Jemma can’t help but berate herself for not taking this risk sooner. Because of _course_ this, like everything else with Fitz, would feel natural and dangerous all at once. Of _course_ it would be better than anything with _anyone_ else because it’s _Fitz_ and it’s _her_ and they’ve always been better together. 

She’s quite pleased to learn that even with _this_ that fact holds true. 

When the need for oxygen becomes too great, Jemma pulls back slightly and grins at the dazed expression on Fitz’s face. He’s blinking sluggishly and Jemma fondly remembers Fitz awaking from their first testing of her dentrotoxin. He’d been just as slow-moving and dazed then, and Jemma feels a flicker of pride knowing that a kiss from her is just as powerful a knockout drug where Fitz is concerned as her methodical mixture of chemicals. 

“How time-sensitive is the project you’re working on?” 

She presses another chaste kiss to his lips, playing with the short hair at the nape of his neck and looking at his heavy-lidded eyes from beneath her eyelashes. 

“Wh… proj… huh?” 

Jemma grins at the mumbled jargon, continuing to run her nails along his neck and reveling in the way his eyes flutter shut at the feeling. 

“Because… depending on how you want to look at it, we have at _minimum_ four days and more accurately ten _years_ of this _…_ ” She presses another lingering kiss to his lips before pulling back slightly to whisper against his mouth. “…to catch up on.” 

She gives him a sly grin, pressing forward to place a chaste kiss to his cheek before turning on her heel and making her way out of the lab, subtly crossing her fingers in the hopes that Fitz will take the hint. 

Her heart sinks slightly when she makes it halfway down the hall on her way to the common area, but then she startles at the feeling of someone taking her hand and lacing their fingers together. She turns with a shocked expression to see Fitz, cheeks rosy and clearly struggling not to grin, at her side. 

“How…” 

She glances from his face to their interlaced hands and feels her mouth drop when Fitz turns his head, eyes smoldering, and says, “I’m a spy too you know. I know how to be quiet when I need to be.” 

The cocky smile he gives her at that causes a pleasant warmth to make its way through her body and Jemma bites her lip to keep from pushing him against the _very_ public wall of the hallway to get to work on their _catching up_. He seems to sense that she _wants_ to though, grinning cheekily at her and raising an eyebrow, and Jemma can’t have Fitz thinking that he’s somehow gotten the upper hand over her so she turns her head to face forward again, letting out a noncommittal hum before nonchalantly saying, “Too bad. I wanted to try a new method of shutting you up. Guess it’s not necessary since you’re such a great spy and all…” 

His grip on her hand momentarily slackens at her words and Jemma turns slowly so that she can take in his reddening face in her peripheral vision. It’s silent for a few long moments and Jemma _briefly_ worries that she might have gotten a bit to forward, but then Fitz’s grip tightens and he manages to stutter out, “Well… I never said I was a _great_ spy… just that I technically _am_ one. I umm… I’m always open to learning new things… methods and such that might prove beneficial down the line.” 

Jemma can’t stop the delighted laugh that breaks free at that and wonders if this feeling of giddiness will be permanent now that she and Fitz are _she and Fitz._

She quickly scans the area to make certain that they’re alone before turning to loop her arms around his neck and murmuring, “Noted,” before pressing up on the balls of her feet and slotting her mouth against his once more.


	5. Stars

Tonight, rather _today,_ is one of the starless ones. 

Jemma’s been struggling to discover why the stars appear and disappear, seemingly randomly, and had quickly found that their presence correlates with her own bouts of fleeting happiness.

Happiness being _far_ too strong of a word to describe a state that’s more accurately classified as, “not miserable.” 

There’s something comforting in seeing the small flecks of white in the night (and day) sky. They’re a reminder of late evenings spent with her father in her youth, and similar nights spent with Fitz and the telescope they’d built during their time at SciTech. It seems that memories are all she has now and Jemma struggles to keep them intact as the smallest of things triggers them. 

The stars she spots on this planet are mostly different than the constellations she’d memorized as a young girl, but every once in awhile she’ll spot something familiar and instantly wonder if the people she loves can see it as well. The thought that they _can_ is one of the few things that’s still keeping her going. Knowing that, as far away as she may be, she’s at _least_ in the same galaxy as her friends and family is something that seems to provide strength when Jemma most needs it. 

So _of course_ today is one where the sky is a vastly looming darkness without even the faintest flicker of stars and hope. 

The need for food and water had been her motivator during her first few days and weeks on this hell, and now that she’s successfully found both, there’s a distinct feeling of purposelessness. Having something to do, a tangible goal, kept her occupied and prevented her mind from straying too fare down the path of hopelessness. Now that _surviving_ isn’t as doubtful as it had been pre-discovery of adequate nourishment, Jemma finds that her memories are flooding back like sharp bullets piercing her brain. 

She longs to see the infinitesimal dots of light littering the sky and, more than anything, she wishes she could see them with the people she’s spent _years_ gazing at them with. 

-O- 

“Fitz. _Fitz!_ ” 

Jemma can hear a low groan from the other side of the door and takes it as an appropriate enough response to warrant making her way into her… boyfriend’s…? Best friend’s…? _Fitz’s_ room. 

She’s not surprised to see the lump in the center of the bed, blanket tugged snuggly around Fitz’s balled up frame and pillow covering his face in what Jemma knows was his attempt to block out her knocking. His arm is lying haphazardly on top of it, it’s dead weight likely meant to provide an additional barrier between his ear and her calling of his name, and Jemma pauses for a moment to consider her options. 

She _could_ just back out of the room and let Fitz sleep _or_ she could continue on with her initial plan. A small voice in the back of her head throws out a _third_ option of curling up against him and joining him in slumber, an idea that sends pleasant butterflies through her stomach, but she worries that it’s still a _tad_ to early in this new part of their relationship to fall asleep in Fitz’s bed uninvited. 

So Jemma opts to move forward with her original plan, bounding onto the bed and poking her finger into Fitz’s side, grinning as he tries to squirm away with a pitiful moan. An infinitesimal part of her feels badly about waking him up, especially considering the hours Coulson has had him working recently, but a far _larger_ part of her wants to experience this with Fitz more than almost anything else in the world. 

It’s tradition after all. 

Rather, it _had_ been until she’d missed last year’s display. 

The thought causes that familiar ache to well up in Jemma’s chest as she remembers crying alone in her too-staged apartment while looking up at the sky and wondering whether Fitz was doing something similar. 

Considering the current grumbling, Jemma’s fairly certain that he most definitely had _not_ been doing something similar. Now that she thinks about it… each time they’d done this in the past had involved her waking him up, or _keeping_ him up, for the sight and Jemma smiles at the realization that _that’s_ what their real tradition is. 

She gives him another solid poke in the side, hissing, “ _Fitz!”_ as she does and fighting a grin as he does an admirable job at simultaneously trying to scoot away and duck further under the covers.

“G’way.” 

Jemma narrows her eyes at the lump beneath her and bites her lip as a _new_ method of waking him up flits through her mind. She stares down at him, still shrouded by the blanket, and contemplates whether or not it’s a good idea. Their relationship has been progressing steadily, multiple dates gone on and just as many kisses exchanged, and they _have_ been friends for over a decade. 

Fitz is her _boyfriend_ now and, while Jemma oftentimes can’t help but think of him as her best friend first, there’s no reason for her to pull herself back. 

So she clambers on top of the duvet, and by proxy _Fitz,_ grinning at the way she can feel him immediately stiffen beneath her. She feels her cheeks redden as she wonders whether _all_ of him is stiff and quickly brushes past the thought as she wrestles the pillow off his head and begins to press her lips to every point of his face that she can feasibly reach. 

Jemma can feel him slacken at each point of contact and continues to place chaste kisses against his face and throat until he turns fully over and peers up at her through sleepy eyes. When she sees the sliver of that silvery blue, Jemma leans forward and places a languid kiss against Fitz’s lips, reveling in the way that (though half asleep) he effortlessly kisses back. When she pulls away, his eyes are closed again and Jemma beams down at him, twining her fingers through his own and waiting for him to become a bit more cognizant before attempting to speak. 

When his eyes finally flutter open again, he blinks sluggishly a few times before shifting his hands from Jemma’s grasp and resting them on the legs that are bracketing his chest. He still looks a bit groggy but his eyes are clear enough that Jemma feels confident that he’ll understand her demand to, “Get _up._ ” 

Unfortunately, Fitz _is_ cognizant enough to understand her… meaning he’s equally able-minded enough to battle her and make this whole process infinitely more difficult. He moves his hands from her legs so that he can groan into them as he mutters, “ _Why_?” 

Jemma swats his hands away from his face, linking one in her own and shifting off of Fitz as she tugs at his arm and tries to pull him out of bed. Unsurprisingly he doesn’t budge, instead relaxing all of his limbs and infuriatingly becoming the epitome of dead weight. 

“You _know_ why Fitz. C’mon. Up, up, up.” She tugs at his hand again, trying to use her own body weight to at least get him _upright_ and sighs in exasperation when Fitz tugs _back_ and nearly makes her topple back onto the bed. She releases his hand completely at that, placing hers on her hips and skewering him with the, “no nonsense,” glare that she tends to reserve for arguments in the lab. She _wants_ to smile at the way Fitz seems to wither slightly under her gaze, but wants to maintain her serious illusion more so she keeps her hands firmly at her waist and her eyes narrowed. 

“Jemma.” Her name comes out as more of a groan than anything but Fitz props himself up with an elbow so she takes it as a minor victory. “Can’t we just take _one_ year off?” 

She huffs at this before turning around and rummaging through Fitz’s drawers to find a jumper for him that will do an adequate job of staving off the chill of the early morning. “We took _last_ year off Fitz.” 

Jemma gets so excited about stumbling across her favorite jumper of his that she barely makes out the soft, “Speak for yourself,” that leaves Fitz’s mouth. When she _does_ manage to process the words, she stiffens slightly before turning around, jumper in hand, to face Fitz with a look of confusion. 

“What?” 

Jemma holds her breath for a long moment as she waits for Fitz to explain further and feels her heart begin to hammer as her mind runs through all of the possibilities that such a statement could mean. His face is ducked down, eyes refusing to meet her own, and he’s playing with an invisible piece of lint along the edge of his comforter. 

“Wha… I mean… _I_ didn’t take last year off. I watched ‘em.” 

The confession causes another pang in her chest and Jemma feels her grip around the jumper tighten as she realizes that Fitz _had_ managed to get up without her. 

“You… you did?” She can’t quite hide the raw shock from her voice as she questions him, mind whirling and the small seed of hope blooming as she wonders whether Fitz, even while understandably angry at her, had still felt the day was significant enough to them to celebrate in her absence. 

“Yeah I… y’know. I missed you.” 

The soft words bring tears to Jemma’s eyes because, despite the rather lengthy conversations they’ve had regarding her time away since getting together, Fitz’s vocalization of their separation is a stark reminder of the time they’d lost and the near identical feelings they’d experienced. She’s not sure what to say now, how to properly articulate just how much she’d missed _him_ as well, and instead moves forward to kneel on the bed and pull him towards her in a crushing hug. 

His arms wind around her instantly, tugging her closer to him, and Jemma burrows her face into the crook of his neck as she breaths him in and tries to convey through this physical touch how much his means to her. The way his arms tighten around her makes Jemma think that he understands and she presses her lips to his neck in the hopes that it might distract him enough to not hear her sniffle. 

But it’s _Fitz,_ so of _course_ he hears her. He pulls away with a worried expression, gently using his thumbs to brush the tears that had fallen off of her cheeks, and Jemma gives him a watery smile in thanks. 

They’re silent for a few long moments, simply gazing at each other and lost in their own minds, and Jemma is _just_ on the cusp of pushing forward and curling up in bed when Fitz shifts away, making her lose her balance slightly, and clambers _out._ He stands at the side of the bed, stretching briefly before extending his hand towards her and tilting his head towards the window. 

“C’mon. Let’s go watch some meteors.” 

Jemma smiles at that, eagerly allowing Fitz to tug her up and pull her flush against him. He gives her another kiss to the lips, one that seems to cause all of her lingering sadness to dissipate, before tugging her against his side and allowing her to wrap her arms around his middle as his winds his own around her shoulders. Her smile grows when he snatches the blanket off his bed with his free hand and leads her out of the room in the direction of the stairwell. 

When they make it onto the roof the first thing out of Fitz’s mouth is, “Bloody fucking _hell_ it’s cold,” and Jemma giggles immediately at the combined shock and grumpiness in his tone. She’s still laughing when he pulls her down to join him in leaning against the low wall of the roof’s edge, tucking herself closer to him as he wraps the blanket around the both of them while muttering about the chill. 

She smiles against his neck at the feeling of his hand moving over her back in an attempt to warm her up and nuzzles her nose against his jaw as she whispers, “Just means we’ll have to stick close. Warm each other up.” 

Jemma can’t see him but she knows that Fitz is smiling at her words, something that’s only confirmed when he shifts again so that her back is pressed against his front and she’s contentedly surrounded by a Fitz cocoon. She happily leans against him, twining their fingers together as she tilts her head towards the stars and marvels at the vastness of the sky and how much their tradition has changed since that first year at the academy.


	6. Waking Up

She wakes up to the press of chaste kisses against her throat and can’t keep from smiling at the feeling. His day-old stubble is like sandpaper against her neck but the feeling is far more pleasurable than it is irritating and Jemma doesn’t hesitate to allow the smile bloom across her face. 

She refuses to open her eyes though, instead choosing to allow herself a moment to hone in on her other senses and simply _be._ To feel the rough rub of Fitz’s jaw against her own, to smell the lingering scent of Irish Spring that wafts in her direction each time he shifts slightly to run his nose along a different part of her face, and to taste the perpetual sweetness of his mouth when he finally presses a soft kiss to her lips. 

When she finally does manage to tear her eyes open, she’s greeted by a sight that causes an overwhelming feeling of giddiness to flood her body. Fitz is hovering above her, beaming smile seemingly permanently fixed in place and azure eyes doing as much to pin her down as the rest of his body. She’s laying on her back with Fitz half on top of her, pressed entirely against her side and arm wrapped loosely around her waist, and Jemma can’t remember having ever being so blissfully happy this early in the morning. Or _ever_ really. 

“Mmm… good morning.” 

Her sleepy mumbling causes Fitz’s smile to widen and he moves his head down to nuzzle against her cheek, pressing a few chaste kisses to her neck before shifting to whisper in her ear. “Good morning indeed. Sorry for falling asleep on you last night. Didn’t mean to overstay my welcome.” 

Jemma rolls her eyes at Fitz’s words, pushing slightly on his shoulders and leveling him with a look that she _hopes_ conveys just how preposterous she finds his statement. Fitz falling asleep in the midst of a movie marathon is something that Jemma had grown used to within a year of their friendship and, minus the slight teasing she gives him whenever he does, she’s never minded starting her day with Fitz by her side. 

Something that is even _more_ true now. 

He’d fallen asleep last night by the third Dr. Who episode and Jemma had spent the next two taking the time to study his sleeping form and marveling at the fact that _this time_ Fitz wasn’t just crashing in her room as a friend and colleague. _This time_ she wouldn’t have to get a separate blanket for herself. _This time_ she could slowly peel off his shoes and trousers without worrying that he’d wake up in confusion and ask what the bloody hell she was doing. 

Because _this time_ Fitz was falling asleep, in her bed, as her boyfriend. A word that still doesn’t seem large enough to describe them. 

He’d been so peaceful, calmer than she’d remembered him being since the chaos that they’d been thrown into upon joining Coulson’s team, and Jemma had lain awake for quite some time simply peering at him with affection. When her own eyelids had begun to droop, she hadn’t hesitated to curl up against him and luxuriate in his constant warmth. He’d tugged her closer, wanting to be as near as possible even in sleep, and Jemma had entwined herself with him without even thinking about it. 

She’d fallen asleep with her legs twined with his own, her head nestled comfortably on his chest and the weight of the world no longer pressing down on her. She’d fallen asleep _happy_ and thinking that sleeping with Fitz might be something that she could easily grow used to… largely because she already _was_ used to it. 

Snapping herself out of her musings, Jemma tilts her head up to press a long kiss to Fitz’s lips before letting her head fall back on her pillow and saying, “You could stay forever and it _still_ wouldn’t be long enough Fitz.” 

The moment the words leave her mouth, Jemma wrinkles her nose at the sappiness of the statement and groans as she closes her eyes before she has to catch sight of the smirk that is inevitable making it’s way across Fitz’s face. 

It’s silent for a few long moments, something that’s slightly unnerving considering she’s just set her _boyfriend_ up for the ideal bout of teasing, and Jemma slowly opens one eye to see why Fitz has yet to take the opportunity to tear the mickey out of her. What she sees isn’t at _all_ what Jemma had expected, and she feels her breath catch in her throat when Fitz blinks the building tears from his eyes. 

The sight immediately puts her on high alert and she moves her hand to his cheeks in worry. “Fitz?” 

Jemma releases a soft, “ _Oof_ ,” when Fitz lets his full weight drop on top of her as he burrows his face into the crook of her neck with a small sniffle. She’s at a bit of a loss as to what to do, their telepathic connection failing her in this moment, so Jemma just runs her hands soothingly through his hair and waits him out. 

They lay like that for a long while, Jemma using one hand to tangle her fingers through Fitz’s hair and the other to rub soothing circles against his back. He’s clutching her like a lifeline and it’s when he slowly begins to loosen his grip that Jemma knows she’ll get an explanation for this sudden shift in mood. 

Sure enough, Fitz pulls back from where he’d buried himself against her and keeps his eyes focused on anything but her own. That won’t do though, so Jemma uses her hand to tilt his chin up and peers at him questioningly. He remains silent for a few moments, gazing at her as though she’s a dream, and it’s _this_ thought that makes Jemma realize what might be the root of Fitz’s sudden emotions. 

Skye had told her, just after Fitz and she had rebuilt their tentative friendship and just _before_ they had built their new relationship, about the hallucinations. The faux-Jemma of her best friend’s imagination and the combined pain and strength it had brought Fitz in her absence. She’d politely excused herself when Skye had told her, burrowing into her bed with the jumper she’d stolen from Fitz the night she’d left for Hydra, and sobbed until there were no tears left. 

At that point, it had been just another reminder of the hurt she’d caused him, and at _this_ point, watching Fitz gaze at her with an emotion that Jemma is certain there’s no word for, it brings back the feelings of guilt and uncertainty over her past decisions. 

She blinks her own tears back and immediately leans into the warmth when Fitz’s hand cups her jaw, thumb stroking against the apple of her cheek with a tenderness that makes Jemma want to live in this moment forever.

He gives her a tremulous smile as he tucks back a lock of her hair and says, “Sorry I… I just… this is _good._ Right? This is _real_ and it’s good and I… after everything… I just… I never _dreamed_ that you’d… that _we’d_...” 

Jemma doesn’t let him continue. 

Instead, she pushes herself forward and cuts him off with a searing kiss to the lips. She doesn’t _need_ to hear the rest of his rambling because it’s something she’s thought about- _wondered_ over- numerous times herself. This _is_ real and it _is_ good and she knows just how difficult that is to grasp sometimes after everything she and Fitz have been through in the past year. 

It’s hard to believe that they’ve survived the things they have, both the physical and the emotional, and Jemma can understand how Fitz could be so overwhelmed by a moment like this. She herself almost broke down the other day when they’d been snuggling on the couch, sipping tea and sharing a book between them. 

When she’s finally at a point where oxygen is required, Jemma pulls away but doesn’t remove her hands from where they’re wrapped around Fitz’s neck. He gives her that same soft smile that always seems to cause those bloody butterflies to flutter in her stomach, and Jemma tugs him back down to her, maneuvering him on the bed so that _she’s_ now laying on top of _him_. She burrows into his side, letting him tug her against him as she situates herself to peak comfort, and presses a smattering of kisses against his throat. 

She closes her eyes with a contented sigh, wrapping her arms tighter around Fitz’s torso, and nuzzles her cheek against the softness of the t-shirt that is covering his chest. 

“What’re you doing?” 

His voice is quiet and it seems to soothe Jemma even more, the soft warmth of Fitz already making her drowsy. She snuggles further against him, reaching blindly for the comforter and tugging it over them as she mumbles, “It’s Sunday, I’m tired, there’s no immediate threat, and you’re quite a comfortable pillow, so I’m going back to sleep.” 

She both feels and hears him chuckle beneath her and smiles against his chest when he tightens his arms with a small hum of agreement. When she closes her eyes, _just_ as she’s on the cusp of falling asleep, Jemma can’t help but think that she’s quite looking forward to being woken up by Fitz’s sandpaper kisses for a second time this morning. 

-O- 

She wakes up to the feeling of sand, _real_ sand, swirling around her and grating against her skin. 

It encircles her completely and Jemma is overcome with weariness as she struggles to push herself up and shake herself off. It’s a slow process, going from being horizontal to vertical, and she needs to pause a few times along the way just to keep from collapsing. Her arms shake with the exertion, a stark reminder of the fact that she’s on the precipice between living and dying, and Jemma is once again struck by a panging hunger and unquenchable thirst. 

Her misery is deep-seeded at this point, extending throughout her mind and body and filling her with a seemingly constant feeling of hopelessness. She’s doing her absolute best to keep the small ember of positivity alight but feels it dim every second she’s here. Decent food and cool water seem like myths to her at this point, a taunting memory that has no business on this barren wasteland, and Jemma wonders how something she’d taken for granted every day on earth could simultaneously be a motivator and soul-crushing entity here. 

The tiny bit of optimism that she has left is on the cusp of dissipating completely and Jemma knows that this has the potential to be a turning point for her, a make or break situation that is wholly dependent on her ability to _keep going._

So she makes the final push, staggering to her feet and setting her sights on the next dune she’ll have to scale. She’s covered in sand and if she weren’t so dehydrated, she likely would have cried at the feeling of the small grains falling off her neck. 

It brings back the phantom feeling of the _other_ scratchiness against her throat that’s haunted her dreams and Jemma takes a slow breath to compose herself. She gives herself a brief moment to embrace the anguish before changing tactics and using that phantom feeling of stubble against her jaw as a motivator, one that’s almost stronger than water. 

Because she _will_ feel it. 

She’ll get off this planet, get home to _Fitz,_ and finally get a chance to tell him how much she thoroughly enjoys his unshaven look.


	7. Home

Jemma can hardly contain her excitement as she tugs Fitz’s hand and pulls him along the small path. They’ve always been rather infectious when it comes to one another, moods often intermingling depending on the other’s, and today is no different. He’d been grumbling during much of the trip, apparently not a fan of surprises that _he_ isn’t the mastermind of, but even Fitz can’t keep up his annoyance when she is practically vibrating with eagerness and yanking his arm as she follows what she hopes will soon become a familiar pathway. 

“Jemma where the bloody hell have you taken me?” 

_Okay, maybe he’s still a tad grumpy._

Jemma sighs in exasperation at the same question that she has dodged for the 2ish hours it’d taken to drive here from his childhood home. She’d done a rather decent job at avoiding the question, providing vague answers and generally noncommittal hums, but she’s about ready to crack, which can’t happen because they’re _so_ close. If her memory is correct, there are only a few twists and turns left until they’ll reach their final destination and Jemma Simmons will be damned if she spoils the surprise in this literal final stretch. 

So instead, she chooses to match his grumpiness and tug a little harder on his hand as she berates his childlike restlessness. “Ugh, _Fitz!_ Will you just wait a _minute._ You’re the most infuriatingly inpatient person I’ve ever met.” 

“Yeah well, I’m patient where it counts.” 

The tone of his voice is one that Jemma recognizes immediately and she pauses her steps to turn around and look at Fitz. Sure enough, he has a soft expression on his face that makes her heart lurch and wipes away whatever nerves and doubts that she still has where this surprise is concerned. Jemma’s a bit embarrassed by the way her eyes seem to moisten at Fitz’s implication that _she_ was worth being patient for, and she throws her arms around him before she even has time to process what she’s doing. 

He squeezes back just as tightly, no hesitation at all, and Jemma molds herself to his body as she takes a shaky breath and marvels at the fact that this is happening. 

She reflects back on her stint at Hydra and the time preceding and following it, the stilted conversation and misunderstanding of feelings, and tightens her arms around Fitz, eternally grateful to him and the universe for giving her the time to reach this point. She might be one of the more intelligent people around but Jemma has always been a bit slower to work out her own feelings, _certainly_ slower than Fitz, and every so often she feels a deep panging when she wonders what might have happened if she’d taken even _longer_ to sort them out. 

If the sight of Bobbi in that hospital bed, with Hunter standing vigil at her side, hadn’t reminded Jemma of her _own_ time hovering over a comatose Fitz. If it hadn’t provided her with the epiphany that she’s completely and irrevocably in love with Fitz, making her realize that she wants to spend every day of the rest of her life with him. 

Not that she hadn’t always _known_ such a thing. But the _context_ has shifted to something that Jemma hadn’t contemplated until that moment of clarity. 

The moment their awkwardness with each other dissipated in their academy years, Jemma’s vision of her future had always painted Fitz right by her side. Granted, it wasn’t until _recently_ that said visual had him at her side _romantically._ Before, her idea of the future involved her and Fitz sharing a home and cohabiting much like they had during their post-Academy, pre-Coulson’s team, life. She’d never really stopped to think about the fact that she never envisioned anyone _else_ with her. There was no significant other for her, certainly none for Fitz, it was simply two best friends growing old together in a cottage in Perthshire. 

But _now?_

Now Jemma envisions sleepy Sundays, snuggled together in their shared bed; ingenious breakthroughs coming out of their home lab; and an endless amount of kisses, laughter, and love. 

She thinks of home and, while her first thought always has been and always will be Fitz, the second is just around the corner. 

So Jemma finds all the strength in her body and uses it to extract herself from Fitz, matching his fond gaze with one of her own before pressing a quick kiss to his jaw and tugging at his arm with a bright smile. “C’mon. It’s just a little further.” 

She turns back around and resumes walking down the small path, ignoring Fitz’s murmured, “ _What’s_ a little further?” and biting her lip in excitement when they _finally_ make it around the bend. 

It’s just as she remembers it, green ivy working its way up the white exterior, and Jemma feels the breath whoosh from her lungs at the sight of it. It’s _perfect_ and when she turns her head and spots Fitz staring at the small cottage in confusion Jemma feels a smile make its way across her face. The two of them have never had many secrets from one another, save for the Hydra debacle, which they’ve since discussed at length, and have always known nearly everything about one another. 

He knows about the time she got stuck in the laundry chute while trying to prove a point to a distant cousin, just as she knows that he’d been one of the pour souls that needed to wear headgear during his braces years. 

But _this_ is something that Jemma has always kept to herself. 

Largely because she’s always been aware of the fact that it’s a fantasy more than anything. She’s never felt the need to voice her secret desire because, for Jemma, doing so would make it even less of a reality. As a S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, the likelihood of being able to retire to a safe haven such as this is pretty slim, so she’s dutifully kept this dream locked away in the recesses of her mind. It’s served as a hopeful beacon of light during the months of darkness away from Fitz. 

But the dream of this little cottage has slowly expanded since she and Fitz have entered this new phase of their relationship, and Jemma no longer wants to keep it to herself. 

She turns to him with a beaming smile, any and all nerves completely gone now that her two dreams have collided, and she wraps her arms around his neck as his eyes flit between her and the cottage behind her. 

“Wha…”

She cuts off his question before he can finish asking it and presses a lingering kiss against his mouth, pulling away to whisper, “We’re going to live here one day,” against his lips. 

His eyes widen slightly at her words, clearly surprised by the certainty of her declaration, and he blinks down at her a few times before he furrows his brows and stares at the little home behind her. Jemma fidgets slightly in his grasp, suddenly nervous again by his reaction, and bites her lip as Fitz spins her around so that he can loop his hands around her waist and over her stomach. 

It’s silent for a few long moments and Jemma’s about to tell him to forget about it when Fitz’s grip tightens and he says, “When?” 

The question confuses her and Jemma turns around again to look him in the eye. “I… what?” 

Her confusion causes a smile to emerge on his face as Fitz tucks a loose lock of hair behind her ear before pressing a soft kiss against her lips and asking, “When’s one day?” 

“I haven’t… _what?”_

Her stuttering causes Fitz’s smile to grow and he chuckles slightly, tightening his arms where they’re wrapped around her waist and nodding at the small cottage behind her.

“It’s for sale.” 

Jemma whirls her head around, noticing for the first time the small sign in the yard, and looks back at him with her mouth agape as she blinks a few times and tries to process what it is Fitz is implying. This whole trip had been a spur of the moment idea for her, an opportunity to share her childhood dream with Fitz, and Jemma hadn’t expected for a _second_ that he would suggest… that he would want… 

She shakes her head slightly, arms having long since dropped from Fitz’s neck to her sides at the shock, and stares at him as she tries to figure out if there’s any other way she could have possibly taken his words. “I didn’t… I don’t… _what?!”_  

Fitz grabs her hands in his and steps closer to her, smiling softly and making Jemma think that perhaps she _hadn’t_ misinterpreted what he’d said. “Whether _one day_ is tomorrow or five years from now, we’re here _today_ and our future home is sitting, for sale, in front of us.” His eyes are suddenly shimmering with excitement and Jemma feels her chest begin to constrict as he steps even closer and grins at her with unbridled enthusiasm. “Neither of us have _touched_ the money we’ve accumulated over the years so… let’s just do it. Let’s buy it!” 

“Wh… no!” 

Her outburst startles her and she slaps her hands over her mouth with wide eyes as she takes in the crestfallen expression on Fitz’s face. “No?” 

She steps forward, clutching at the lapels of his jacket and wracking her brain to try and figure out how to explain why she’d so quickly nixed his suggestion. “I mean… not… that’s not what I… I _do_ want… I just… I wanted to _show_ this to you today. I didn’t think…” 

“That I could imagine us here just as easily as you? That it’d be for sale and I’d suggest _finally_ doing something for _us_ for once?” 

Jemma is stunned into silence by the emotion in Fitz’s voice and stares at him in awe as he looks at her with more certainty than she’s ever seen before. Not even when he’s working on his various gadgets has Jemma seen him look so earnest and simultaneously serious. Her mouth is open and, after a few long moments of not responding, Fitz takes a step forward and looks down at her with a sober expression. 

“When you think of your future… am I in it?” 

The question actually angers her a bit, snapping her out of her brief stupor, and Jemma crosses her arms with a huff as she looks at Fitz’s beseeching expression. “Of _course!_ How could you even ask me something so preposterous?! Fitz, we’ve gone through this a _million_ ti…” 

He cuts her off before she can finish, gripping her hands tightly and leveling her with a knowing look. “And is this _cottage_ in your future when you imagine it?” 

_This_ question causes her years of dreams and fantasies to come back to her and Jemma’s mouth snaps shut as she realizes that her answer is undoubtedly _yes._ The thought causes a few tears to spring forth and she hastily wipes at them before they have a chance to fall. Fitz is enveloping her in a hug instantly and Jemma doesn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around his waist as she allows herself to process the fact that, if Fitz has his way, this silly dream might actually become a reality. 

“You’re my future Jem. I don’t need a cottage in Perthshire but… I _want_ it if you do. I want this with you.” 

The soft words whispered into her hair cause Jemma to burrow herself further into Fitz as she lets out a small sniffle and begins to nod rapidly against his chest. “I want this too.” 

It’s like a weight has been lifted from her with the admission and Jemma realizes that, for the first time in a long while, she’s doing something for herself. She’s pursuing something she’d given up on ages ago and she’s pursuing it with _someone_ who, despite what he or others might think, she’s _never_ given up on and never will. 

She pulls away with a watery smile and eagerly leans up to meet Fitz’s lips with her own when he ducks down for a kiss. It’s slow and soft, infusing a warmth into Jemma that screams of home, and Jemma realizes with a start that, while _her_ home is Fitz, _their_ home is sitting behind her. When she pulls away, she knows that her excitement is obvious because Fitz himself is practically vibrating with enthusiasm and _he_ has only had this dream for a few minutes. _She’s_ had years, meaning all she can do is bite her lip and nod when Fitz tugs her towards the cottage and says, “C’mon, let’s make an offer.” 

-O- 

The cave is a far cry from the little cottage nestled in the heart of Perthshire, but it’s a marked improvement over the piles of sand that Jemma has been using for shelter as of late. 

The _cage_ is admittedly less of an improvement, more of a hindrance really, and the oaf that keeps popping in and tossing bowls of scraps at her like she’s a dog is _certainly_ not Jemma’s idea of good company. 

It doesn’t matter much though because she doesn’t plan on staying long. She bides her time, relishing in the respite from sand and wind without making it _obvious_ she is by throwing out as many sarcastic quips as she can, all the while plotting how she can escape this _new_ (and quite literal) hellhole. 

She conjures plan after plan, running through the pros and cons of each before settling on one that she’s certain will get her out of this cage. It’s risky, and could easily go awry if she doesn’t execute it to perfection, but Jemma’s going to do whatever it takes to escape, no matter how low her chances of success may be. 

She has a small cottage in Perthshire motivating her.


	8. Unison

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS CHAPTER IS RATED M.
> 
> Also I'm sure some people might wonder why this would come AFTER the dream of buying a house together, but I fully believe that Jemma would think of nearly every aspect of her relationship with Fitz before the physical.

The first time she sleeps with Will, it’s rushed and as close to primal as Jemma ever remembers being. 

Her tears of anguish haven’t even dried before they’re tugging at each other’s clothing and pressing against one another atop the flimsy cot. Jemma barely has a moment to understand that _this_ is the moment she’s accepted that her life belongs to this planet now before Will is pressing in and she is throwing her head back at the sensation that she hasn’t felt in ages, not even on earth. 

His grunts intermingle with her own breathy gasps and it’s over just as quickly as it’d begun, Jemma crying out in ecstasy and Will pulling out in unison just before he himself comes undone with a low groan that sends fissions of heat through Jemma’s recovering body. 

They’re dirty, absolutely disgusting from the day’s trek and following quick shag, and Jemma can’t help but giggle as the bear of a man rolls over and tugs her along with him. It’s silent for a few long moments, both of them gaining control of their breathing, before Jemma tilts her head slightly and says, “That was…” 

“ _Very_ quick.” 

Will cuts her off before she can finish her sentence, something that Jemma is grateful for since she realizes she has no clue how she’d _planned_ on finishing it. No idea what word would be the most appropriate to describe what had just transpired between them. 

_Unexpected. Sudden. Amazing. What I needed. Me giving up._  

She feels something clench inside of her at the thought of what this moment between them means. She’s accepted her fate, acknowledged that she’s here to stay, and had let the biggest part of herself go in the process. The pain she’d felt at the failure of their attempt to get the bottle through the portal comes rearing back at the realization that she’s officially given up. This, _this,_ was the defining moment. This was the moment of resignation. 

This was cutting ties with _her_ world and accepting _this_ one. 

Her initial feeling is one of relief, relief that she no longer has to exhaust herself with feigned positivity and unbridled hope, relief that she can now live the best of her ability _here._

Her second feeling, which scholars often say is the _real_ one, not just a knee-jerk reaction, is sadness and unbearable remorse. 

The breathing that had just grown steady is on the cusp of shallowing at the thought of what she’s done and what it means. Who she’s chosen and whom she’s given up. She feels as though she’s one memory away from breaking down again and finds herself once again grateful for Will, who chuffs out a small laugh and stares down at her with a small grin, “In my defense… it’s been fourteen years.” 

The comment is so ridiculous that it seems to instantly dampen the looming feeling of sorrow, and Jemma huffs out a laugh, appreciating Will’s ability to add a bit of levity to the situation, before patting him on the chest and saying, “Mmmhmm. I’m sure it’ll last longer next time.” 

Jemma stills at her own words, feeling an onslaught of varying emotions as she tries to suss out just what she means by that, and worries that Will might take it as something she _doesn’t._ Mercifully, he brushes past her statement and accompanying stillness with a short grunt of mirth and, “No promises,” tugging her closer and shutting his eyes.

He’s dozing in minutes and Jemma takes a moment to study him as he does.

Her cheek is pressed against his chest, finger roving over his numerous scars, and Jemma feels a sudden surge of affection for Will that she’s never quite felt before. It brings a small smile to her face but can’t quite stomp out the feeling of melancholia that still lingers within her. 

Can’t quite shake her of the belief that _this_ , not this _moment_ but this entire _situation,_ is hell. 

Can’t quite erase the fact that… it was never _Will_ she’d thought of over the past few days, weeks, and months when imagining her next romantic partner. 

-O-

He’s nervous.

She can tell because, despite the obstacles they’ve faced and the crushing distance that has separated them this past year, there’s still nobody that Jemma Simmons knows better than Leopold Fitz. 

His hands are shaking where they’re gripped around her waist and, while the tremors could _certainly_ be attributed to the residual effects of his brush with death at the bottom of the ocean, Jemma knows that it has far more to do with events of the present and very near future than with the those of the past. 

She’s nervous too, if she’s being honest with herself, still not sure that she’s deserving of the reverent expression on Fitz’s face but willing to do anything and everything to make sure she is. They’ve been straddling this precipice for far longer than either of them had ever been aware of, and this moment seems like the culmination of every interaction and exchange they’ve experienced over the years. It’s equally thrilling and terrifying, but with each press of Fitz’s lips against her own, Jemma finds the scale tipping towards the former. 

His chest is heaving against hers now, breathless from the rather lengthy snog they’d just pulled away from, and Jemma runs her fingers through his hair as she stares unabashedly at his eyes. He has her pressed against the door to her bedroom and she feels a slight thrill at the realization that _this_ is happening. It hadn’t been overtly stated, but the tension that has surrounded them for who knows how long had skyrocketed tonight, growing with each brush of fingers and expanding with every press of the lips. Tonight _is_ the night for them and, while neither had actually vocally expressed the fact, both seem to be wholly aware that this date won’t be ending with a sweet kiss in the hallway and Fitz heading back to his room. 

The fact is only solidified when Fitz’s hands tighten and he presses closer to her as his lips almost reverently move to pay attention to the spot beneath her ear that he’d only recently discovered. Jemma whimpers slightly at the feel of him against her and cants her hips to press closer, grinning at the way the contact causes Fitz to drop his head against her shoulder with a low groan that causes something to flare within her. 

“ _Jemma_.” 

She’s not sure her name has ever sounded as good as it does coming breathily out of Fitz’s mouth, tickling her neck with heat, and she gasps as Fitz whispers it almost worshipfully for a second time before grazing his teeth against the column of her throat and tightening his hands against her waist. 

She blindly reaches behind her for the doorknob, focusing more on reattaching her lips to Fitz’s and the feel of his thumb as it slips beneath her shirt and leaves a scorching trail along her skin. She tugs him along with her as she backs into her darkened bedroom and praises her extraordinary memory as she flicks on the light without pulling herself away from Fitz. 

There’s and ebb and flow to their kisses, a balanced give and take that seems to be reflective of the general evenness that their relationship has always been. Of course, much of their relationship _also_ involves one trying to tip the scales and best the other, so Jemma decides to be the one seeking higher ground tonight. 

Her fingers move from where they’re gripping Fitz’s hair, slowly following the tendons in his neck until they come in contact with the top button of his shirt. She makes quick work of it, popping it free and moving onto the next one immediately. She feels a slight thrill at the feeling of Fitz’s chest beneath her hands, grinning against his mouth as she processes the fact that he’s forgone wearing an undershirt, and feels her fingers begin to move faster of their own volition. 

She makes it halfway down his shirt before Fitz seems to break free from the haze that her kisses have put him in and grasps her hands in his own, stopping her from tugging the next button free. Jemma’s a bit embarrassed by the disappointed whine that leaves her mouth, and stares at Fitz through confused, hooded, eyes when he pulls away from her mouth and takes a shuddering breath. 

When he meets her eyes again she can see nearly every definable emotion warring within his gaze. Lust, desire, nervousness, hesitancy, _love._ She sees it all and the sight fills her with an unwavering fondness for the man in front of her, a fondness that grows even more when he moves his fingers to softly stroke her cheek as he tentatively asks, “Are you… are you sure?” 

It’s such a Fitz thing to ask and Jemma finds herself nodding and moving forward before the words can fully leave his mouth. She ardently presses her lips to his own, hoping that this time she can show _him_ what she wants, how she feels, and how important he is to her. How irreplaceable he’s always been, her one, good, constant thing _._  

The message must get across because she feels Fitz’s hands move from her waist to slowly work at the buttons of her blouse and shivers at the first brush of skin against her neck as each new stud pops free. Before Jemma knows it, their shirts are falling to the floor in unison and their hands are working in synchrony to rid each other of their trousers, lips still fused together and hands pausing in their tasks only to rove reverently across exposed flesh. 

When they tumble atop the mattress, entirely bare in every sense of the word, Jemma feels her breath hitch at the awed expression on Fitz’s face, so openly full of love and adoration that she wonders how one person could possibly hold such an abundance of feelings. His hands move along her body, gently stroking every inch of skin as though mapping her out, and leaving trails of heat in their wake. She tugs at his head, grinning at the small whine he releases when forced to tear his gaze from her chest, and presses fervent kisses to his lips the moment they’re in her vicinity. 

She can feel him smile and grins herself in response, shifting her lips so that she’s laying a smattering of kisses upon every centimeter of his face that’s in reach. The move causes Fitz to let out a burst of giddy laughter that quickly transforms into a moan as Jemma shifts to worry his ear between her teeth. As she does, Fitz’s hand begins to wander and Jemma has to fight a groan of her own as his fingers begin to fondle her breast. She instinctually arches into his touch, wanting to feel him as much as he seems to want to feel her, and moves her own hands along his chest as he hovers above her. 

He shifts slightly, pulling back to look at her, and Jemma feels another overwhelming surge of fondness and love for him. She stretches up to press another lingering kiss to his lips before running her hands along his back and encouraging him to take this final step with her. She watches as Fitz sucks in a breath, releasing it in a nervous huff before leaning down to press his lips against hers and lining up their bodies. 

She keeps her eyes trained on his as he pushes in, roving her hands over his back and doing everything she can to memorize this moment. It only takes a few slow thrusts for Jemma to realize that, like everything else, she and Fitz are wholly compatible and in sync. Their movements are in tandem, each of them trying to bring the other as much pleasure as possible, and with each shift of the hips and heated kiss to the lips, Jemma swears she falls more and more in love with the man she’d wisely befriended so many years ago. 

She’s so wrapped up in cataloguing every moan, groan, and whimper that leaves Fitz’s mouth that she doesn’t even realize she’s on the precipice until hot coils of pleasure shoot through her as her entire body tightens and a keening gasp is ripped from her throat. Her satisfaction seems to be the catalyst for Fitz’s because, a moment later, he too is tightening atop her and groaning her name in a way that makes Jemma’s toes curl even more than they already had. 

She feels Fitz’s weight press against her as he moves forward to press kisses against her face, laughing at the way his stubble feels against her skin and basking in the afterglow of her last first time. Jemma knows that she’s likely grinning maniacally, but doesn’t feel the slightest bit bashful considering Fitz looks just as crazy when he pulls back, staring down at her with a look of pure bliss and brushing the sweaty strands of hair from her face. 

She grins into their next kiss, following Fitz as he pulls out and away and tugging him back to her so that she can kiss him until oxygen becomes _absolutely_ necessary. When it finally does, she pulls away from him, hands still running through his hair, and bites her lip in contentment as Fitz gazes at her through hooded eyes. 

He shifts down on the bed with a smile, turning on his side to face her, and Jemma follows suit until she’s essentially pressed along the length of him. It amazes her still how easy it is for them to communicate without words and, as the minutes tick by, Jemma revels in the knowledge that, even in silence, Fitz always know what to say.


	9. Vows

She watches calmly as Bobbi and Skye scurry frantically around the room, trying to figure out final details and speaking hurriedly as their anxiety increases. It’s a bit fun, if Jemma is being honest with herself, and she’s more than relieved that her bridesmaids seemed to be so worried and nervous that there’s no more nerves and worry for _her_ to deal with. 

Jemma knows that there’s some sort of myth that not having even _slightly_ cold feet is often an omen of bad things to come, but she’s never felt surer of anything in her life. She glances out the window, biting her lip in excitement as she spots the simple layout of lawn chairs, and feels her heart begin to race as she looks at the clock and realizes that she’s less than half an hour away from marrying her best friend. 

By some miracle it’s a sunny day and the Scottish spring has provided them with ideal conditions for a wedding in Perthshire. 

Laughter bubbles out of her as she processes the fact that, the first time she and Fitz are setting foot in their cottage since purchasing it is for their _wedding._ They haven’t had time to visit, forced to deal with one S.H.I.E.L.D. crisis after another, but the moment Fitz proposed marriage, lying in bed in the early dawn, Jemma decided that they _would_ be making it back to their small home for the occasion… and they’d be taking a QuinJet and their S.H.I.E.L.D. family with them. 

It was a bit of a whirlwind after that morning, it’s barely a month later now, but she and Fitz had both decided that after a decade together there was no sense in waiting a moment longer to make their portmanteau official. 

The team had reacted to the news with varying degrees of shock and excitement, more surprised to hear that Fitz and Jemma had bought a _house_ months ago without telling anyone, and Skye had quickly taken it upon herself to dole out tasks to the lowest of lab assistants (who weren’t even _invited_ to the wedding to be honest) up to the Director himself. 

The other girl had nearly cried when Jemma had tentatively asked her to serve as maid-of-honor, crushing her into a hug that had left her breathless and squealing loud enough that Jemma worried she might have popped an eardrum. But she had done a fine job planning out each detail, consulting both Jemma and Fitz for approval before setting anything in stone, and had made certain that the FitzSimmons wedding would go off without a hitch… minus the one rather _important_ hitch. 

Skye’s running around now as though she’s a chicken whose head’s just been cut off and, somewhat surprisingly, Bobbi is just as frantic. The other agent had been nearly as excited as Skye when informed of the FitzSimmons nuptials, offering both good and truly _awful_ advice about marriage and successfully shutting Hunter up whenever _he_ made an attempt. 

They’re moving back and forth around the room now, talking a mile a minute about things that Jemma is entirely unconcerned with and acting as though this is _their_ wedding that they’re getting so worked up over. The sight causes Jemma to start laughing again and it’s _this_ that finally gets the other women’s attention and snaps them out of their unnecessary panic. 

They look at her in surprise and the view of her closest female friends in the world, wearing lovely gowns that they’d selected themselves, causes a beaming smile to cross Jemma’s face. Her eyes flit between them, slowly filling with happy tears, and her smile only grows when she clutches her bouquet and says, “I’m marrying _Fitz_ in twenty-two minutes.” 

Twin smiles make their way across Bobbi and Skye’s faces and in an instant, Jemma is being crowded by her friends in a hug full of love, laughter, and three types of perfume that _do not_ blend well. 

“It’s about damn time.” 

Jemma lets out a wry chuckle at Skye’s statement, a chuckle that grows louder at Bobbi’s, “Tell me about it,” and when the three break apart they’re all grinning like loons. 

There’s a sharp knock on the door and Bobbi moves to answer it as Skye fiddles with Jemma’s hair, adjusting the small wildflowers and grinning every time they make eye contact. Jemma’s eyes flicker over to the doorway and she lets out an excited, “May!” when she spots the older agent walk into the room. 

May gives her a quick upturn of the lips, something that a normal person likely wouldn’t even classify as a smile but fills Jemma with a warmth at the knowledge that _this_ is something even the Cavalry approves of. 

“You almost ready? The groom is in place.” 

May’s comment causes Jemma to bolt over in excitement, barraging the other woman with a slew of questions before she can even think to stop herself. “You’ve seen him?! Does the tux fit all right? What’s he like? Nervous? Excited? Both? How does…” 

“ _Simmons._ ” 

In one word May manages to make Jemma feel as though she’s a schoolgirl who’s been chastised. She gives the older woman a bashful look, cheeks reddening as Skye and Bobbi snicker beside her, and ducks her head. She only looks up when she feels May place her hands on her shoulders as she says, “You’ll know soon enough.” 

The small wink May gives her is a bit startling, but not enough that Jemma doesn’t immediately reciprocate with a calming breath that blossoms into a beaming smile. At the sight, May turns to Bobbi and Skye and nods towards the door. “Places people.” 

Bobbi squeezes Jemma’s shoulder as she passes by and Skye follows it with a long hug. She squeezes tightly, still managing to avoid ruining either of their hair or make up, and whispers quietly in her ear. “You look so beautiful and I’m so happy. You two… if anyone deserves this, it’s you two.” 

Jemma gives Skye a watery smile when the other girl pulls away and says, “See you at the end of the aisle?” 

Skye nods with a grin, tugging at May’s arm as she walks out the door, and calls out, “I’ll be one next to the guy so excited he might pass out.” 

Jemma chuckles as Skye’s laughter carries down the hall and glances at herself in the mirror, smoothing down her white dress and taking a steadying breath before turning on her heel and leaving the master bedroom. _Their_ master bedroom. 

She’s walking down the staircase of the little cottage, heading towards the point where she’s meant to meet her father, when she comes to a halt at the image she sees through the little window halfway down. 

Fitz is standing beneath the little wooden wedding arch, Mack towering over him by his side, dressed in the smart tuxedo she’d picked out and looking more carefree than she can ever remember seeing him. His hands are hanging loosely at his sides and, even from this distance, Jemma can see that they’re not shaking in the slightest. He’s standing tall, back straight and head held high, and if it weren’t for the nightmares that still haunt her, Jemma wouldn’t have the faintest idea that he’d nearly died, experienced major brain trauma, and had been struggling every day to get better. 

He’s completely at ease now, as though he’s never experienced anything awful in his entire life, and Jemma looks through the window in wonder at the sight. He’s looking down the aisle with an expression of unbridled excitement and Jemma feels her heartbeat quicken at the realization that it’s their _wedding_ that has him in such a state. It’s this moment, this pledge to spend the rest of their lives together, that has put the blissful expression on Fitz’s face and brightness in his eyes. 

She’s certain that a similar expression is on her own face at the moment, as she stares at Fitz and all of her loved ones gathered in their Perthshire garden, and she wonders how it took so long to understand what such expressions mean. Because they’re not _new._ He’s looked at her with this unwavering fondness and love a month into their friendship, just as she’s looked at him. 

And they’ll _keep_ looking at each other this way. They always would have, Jemma knows that’s inevitable, but now they’ll do it _together,_ as husband and wife. 

“Ready Jem?” 

She glances down the stairs where her father is waiting for her with an extended hand, casting one last glance at her husband-to-be before walking down the last few steps and releasing a watery, “More than.” 

-O- 

There’s an unspoken agreement to fight the hells of this planet together. 

It’s not something that she and Will need to vocalize because it goes without saying. Each time they clamber out of their cave and venture off to restock on food and water, there’s a silent vow to stick together and have each other’s back. It’s a comfort, knowing that she doesn’t have to deal with this place and the things on it alone, and Jemma always experiences the briefest moment of relief when Will gives her that encouraging nod immediately before they step outside. 

The other vows, the ones that she keeps to herself, have more to do with making the absolute best of this situation and moving on. With each passing day she gets a bit closer, thinks about her other life a little bit less, and she makes endless promises that she will keep moving forward _here._ That she’ll do everything she can, not to _forget_ , but to tuck away her past and focus on the new future that the universe has thrust upon her.


	10. Tyke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is SLIGHTLY M for vague allusions to sex but really really low-grade (I think).

“This place doesn’t need populating.” 

It’s an offhand comment, one that Will makes after a particularly frantic round of sex that ends with him once again slipping out of her just before coming undone, but it hits Jemma harder than she would have expected. 

Not because she disagrees, because she absolutely _doesn’t._ This place is hell and whatever hope she and Will give to each other might be enough for _them,_ but is certainly not enough for another… 

Another _person._

The thought causes Jemma’s stomach to roil and she hastily gets up from the cot, tugging on her clothes and moving to exit the cave. She gives Will a terse smile on the way out, murmuring a soft, “Just going to wash up,” and doesn’t stop to think about what it means that he believes her. 

She makes her way over to the pool of water, plopping down beside it without much fanfare and letting her salty tears mix with the murky depths that hide the monsters below. Jemma can’t help but think of her _own_ hidden monsters, or rather, hidden feelings and secrets that she’s done a fairly adequate job at burying until now. 

She hasn’t cried in sometime, not since she’d watched her last hope of getting off this godforsaken planet shatter before her eyes, and feels simultaneously wretched and relieved at the feeling of the hot tears against her cheeks. 

It’s been nearly two weeks since she and Will became whatever it is they are, and Jemma is mostly grateful for their shifted dynamic. She is a pragmatic and rational scientist first and foremost, and therefore knows that, without Will in her life, she likely wouldn’t _have_ one. She’d been more than ready to give up, to end the pain and misery, and, had Will not intervened with his kind words and soft assurances, she likely _would_ have. He’s served as her metaphorical light in the darkness of this planet since she’d resigned herself to the fact that _this_ is her life now and always, and Jemma still can’t quite articulate the gratitude she feels for him. 

But there are moments, much like this one, where her mind strays from Will and this planet, focusing instead on another person and place. 

It’s happening less and less with each passing day, but every so often she’s still overcome with a yearning for a life that she can no longer have. Jemma hates these moments for more than one reason. Partly because it seems belittling and disrespectful to the life she _does_ have, here with Will, but mostly because each time her mind betrays her with a flash of something, _someone,_ else, it feels as though her heart is being shredded all over again. 

-O- 

She wakes up to the sound of running feet, thumping at least twice per second due to the stubby little legs they’re attached to, and feels her mouth tug upwards at the pitter-pattering outside the door of her bedroom. It’s a familiar sound, one that she’ll never truly tire of, as is the low groan that comes from the person _attempting_ to sleep beside her. 

Jemma chuffs out a low laugh at his mumbled, “Mmmmm… make it stop,” as the words tickle against the back of her neck. He’s pressed along the length of her, arm draped loosely around her abdomen, meaning it’s not all that difficult for Jemma to turn around on the bed and face her husband with an arched brow that he can’t even be intimidated by since his eyes are still firmly shut. 

He might not be able to _see_ her raised brow, but when he seems to wince slightly, eyes tightening further, Jemma has a pretty good feeling that Fitz can at least _sense_ it. She smiles when he cracks an eye open, shifting closer into his warmth and bringing up a hand to scratch at the day-old stubble that covers her husband’s jaw. He leans into her touch instinctually, moving his arm to pull her flush against him, and Jemma is overwhelmed by the feeling of warmth that makes its way through her in this moment. 

She can’t get much closer to Fitz than she already is, so Jemma moves the only part of her that _can,_ craning her neck and pressing her lips firmly against his. She feels his smile beneath her lips for the briefest of moments before his mouth is shifting, slotting his own lips against hers so as to better kiss back. 

When he pulls away, there’s a soft smile on his face as well as the same expression that never fails to instantly cause a fluttering in Jemma’s stomach. She’s just about to tease him for it, even though she _knows_ she likely looks just as dazed and love struck as him, when the thumping outside grows louder and immediately causes Fitz to groan again. 

“Jemma. Jemma Simmons, you beautiful woman. You absolute genius and love of my life, _please_ make it stop.” 

She laughs again at his whining and smacks a quick kiss to his lips, ruffling his hair in a combination of pity and affection. “It’s _Saturday_ Fitz. There’s no stopping it.” 

Almost immediately, the soft thumps come to an abrupt halt, as though the figure outside their room could somehow hear the soft words, but Jemma knows that the source of the morning ruckus is merely waiting patiently for the clock hands in the hallway to strike 6:00. 

After one _particularly_ memorable morning in which Fitz had sternly told his mini-me that any day she entered their room before six would be a day without science experiments _or_ hot cocoa, she had dutifully followed her father’s warning. Naturally, Fitz hadn’t taken into account the fact that, just because she wasn’t _in their room,_ didn’t mean young Lucy wouldn’t be _awake_ and would simply cause noise elsewhere. 

Meaning that every morning they’re treated to the soft to moderately loud sounds of pitter pattering for the hour or so that Lucy is awake and biding her time until she’s allowed to enter her parents’ bedroom. 

The current silence means the young girl is likely on the other side of the door staring fixedly at the clock, which _really_ means Jemma and Fitz will soon be on the receiving end of one of the human cannonball wrestling moves that dear Aunt Skye taught their daughter how to do. 

_I’m still recovering from **last** weekend’s elbow to the rib._ 

As if he can read her mind, Fitz lets out a soft sigh and moves his head to burrow his face into the crook of her neck. “How much time do we have?” 

Jemma groans slightly at the question, mostly because it means moving her body and craning her neck to get a look at the clock behind Fitz’s heads, and promptly falls back down to the mattress with a murmured, “Two minutes.” 

“Well then, I suppose we should make the most of ‘em.” 

Jemma has time for one short laugh before Fitz is pressing his lips to hers again and kissing her with a fervor that always seems to present itself at this point in the day. And _she,_ like always, kisses back with just as much enthusiasm, winding her arm around her husband and mentally counting down the few seconds she has left to enjoy this moment of bliss. 

She pulls away with a soft sigh when ten seconds remain, eyes fluttering open to note the hazy look in Fitz’s eyes and teeth biting into her lip at the low groan he releases when they break apart. For a brief moment he leans forward and Jemma worries that he might try to keep things going, but instead he places a chaste kiss to her jaw and murmurs, “Showtime,” against her skin. 

Jemma grins at the word and promptly reaches for the covers, tossing them over her and Fitz’s heads and shrouding them in darkness. For a brief moment their intermingling breaths are the only thing she hears but then she catches the telltale sound of a turning doorknob. Fitz must hear it as well because he instantly begins an exaggerated bit of snoring and Jemma giggles softly before joining in, as is tradition. 

Barely five seconds later the snoring is drowned out by squeals of, “Mummy,” and, “Daddy,” and one particularly loud, “Oof,” from Fitz as their daughter leaps atop the bed and crashes into them. 

By some miracle Jemma manages to avoid the full brunt of their daughter’s admittedly slight weight, instead watching as Fitz winces under the darkness of the covers and bites his lip to keep from crying out as the sharp elbows and pointy knees dig into him from above. The darkness doesn’t last long though because in the next instant, two chubby little hands are yanking the covers down and enveloping the, “sleeping,” adults in light. 

“Wake up! Wake up! It’s pancake Saturday!” 

Jemma tries to keep the ruse up as long as possible, snoring even louder to sell it, but stops the moment two tiny hands grab her cheeks and the _owner_ of said hands begins to reign down kisses onto her face. She opens her eyes quickly and shifts her arms, tickling the sandy-haired four year old on top of her and grinning in delight at the squeals of laughter that leave her daughter’s mouth. The young girl collapses in giggles, sandwiching herself between her parents, and Jemma only has to share one look with Fitz before she and her husband are attacking their little one with kisses and tickles. 

The giggles continue for a full minute until Fitz and Jemma slow their fingers and give their daughter a moment to catch her breath. Lucy’s eyes are tightly shut but when she opens them Jemma sucks in a breath at the sight of the brilliant blue gaze that she’s loved since she was seventeen. She might not have _known_ it at seventeen, but over the years Jemma has become more than aware of the fact that this _specific_ shade of blue means _home._

She shifts her head slightly, glancing at Fitz and feeling that same warmth flood through her system as she catches his gaze, the same brilliant blue one that he’d passed along to their daughter, and marvels at the utter perfection that is this moment. She assumes that it can’t get any better and is promptly proven wrong when Fitz leans forward and places a tender kiss to her lips, only pulling back at the sound of one high-pitched, “Ewwwwww,” coming from beneath them. 

Fitz scrunches his nose before bending down and rubbing it against the smaller one, nearly identical to Jemma’s, below him. 

“Oh _you_ can kiss mummy but _I_ can’t?!” 

Lucy lets out another giggle, nodding her head enthusiastically before saying, “Yes because I love mummy most.” 

Jemma’s soft smile widens at her daughter’s declaration and somehow grows even _more_ at Fitz’s snort of disbelief. “Yes but _I’ve_ loved mummy _longer._ And if I’ve loved mummy _longer_ doesn’t that technically mean that _I_ love her most?” 

Jemma fights a grin at the sight of her daughter tilting her head in contemplation at her father’s words but can’t hold out when the young girl shakes her head and squints up at Fitz before saying, “No.” 

Fitz gapes down at his mini-me and lets out a rather indignant squawk before exclaiming, “Why not?!” 

In a huff of exasperation that could _only_ be rivaled by her father, and an eye roll that could _only_ be topped by her mother, young Lucy Fitzsimmons shakes her head and answers with a, “You can’t quantify love daddy. You can only feel it.” 

The response causes Jemma to collapse onto the bed in laughter, partly because of her daughter’s serious expression but _mostly_ because of the fish-like one that Fitz is wearing. He’s gaping down at the child below him, mouth opening and closing a few times before he just shakes his head and glances at Jemma. 

“Bloody four year-old throwing out sage wisdom on love like she’s the next Jane Austen.” 

Jemma tuts once, giving Fitz a warning look to keep his language child-friendly, before rolling over so she’s can press against her daughter’s tiny frame and wind a hand through her husband’s hair. “Let’s agree that you _both_ love me most and I love _you_ most.” 

She bites her lip at the identical looks of contemplation on both Fitz and Lucy’s faces and smiles softly when they turn to each other, raise an eyebrow, and share a classic look of Fitzsimmons silent communication. When beaming smiles cross each of their faces, Jemma knows that they’ve come to an agreement and braces herself for whatever said agreement might entail for _her._  

Sure enough, in the next moment both her husband and daughter are pouncing on her and taking turns pressing chaste kisses all across her face. When Fitz lands a smacking one to her lips, one that seems to last quite a bit longer than the others, Lucy clambers onto his back and whispers something in his ear that Jemma can’t quite make out. 

Whatever it is must be good because Fitz grins and nods in response. Lucy climbs off of him with an excited shout and bounds off the bed and out the door. She sprints down the hallway, stubby little legs moving quicker than Jemma would ever believe possible, and shrieks of pancakes as she does. Jemma can’t help but watch her daughter fondly, smile growing as her sandy hair disappears around a corner. 

“Sometimes I can’t believe it.” 

The soft reverence in Fitz’s voice makes Jemma turn to him, breath hitching at the complete adoration on his face. 

“Believe what?” 

He turns back to her, blue eyes shining with the emotions that every poet has tried to quantify and make sense of, and Jemma once again feels the all-consuming warmth that speaks of home. 

“That this is our life, that she’s _ours,_ that this… this is _real.”_  

-O- 

Jemma’s eyes snap open as a choked sob is ripped from her chest. Her hand moves to clutch at her stomach as she’s overcome by a feeling of nausea at the image, the _daydream,_ that her mind has so cruelly envisioned. 

The unbridled feeling of despair quickly transforms into a simmering rage and she angrily smacks her hand against the still water below, watching as the ripples scurry away from her. For one reason or another, the sight causes a fresh wave of tears and a new feeling of regret for disturbing the calm. Jemma lets her head fall into her hands, breathing deeply in an attempt to bring back her _own_ calm, and tries to clear her mind of everything except the here and now. 

_You’re on an unknown planet. You’re not alone. You have Will. You and Will are something. You’re doing your best to try and forget your favorite word. You don’t want to your favorite word._  

She gives herself another five minutes. Five minutes to acknowledge every confused emotion that is plaguing her. Five minutes to _remember_ and five minutes to build up the strength to forget. And when her five minutes are up, Jemma submerges her face in the pool of water, scrubs the tears away, and heads back to her cave, to her home, and to and Will. 

And each time they come together, Jemma lets him continue to believe it necessary to slip away just as he’s on the precipice of coming undone. Lets him pull away each and every time under the guise that it’s to save another soul from the hell that is this planet. 

She never mentions to Will the fact that, as a female S.H.I.E.L.D. agent, she’d undergone measures to ensure long-term birth control the moment she’d first stepped foot into the Academy. 

She never reveals that her reason for _pushing_ Will as _he_ pulls has little to do with sparing this world of another victim and everything to do with the blue-eyed and sandy-haired youth of her imagination.


	11. Flare

The moment she sees the orange light against the blue landscape, every thought and seemingly impossible fantasy comes flooding back to her. Her mind is filled with the smiling faces of her friends, like a kaleidoscope of past memories and future hopes, and Jemma feels her heart begin to thump wildly as one face in particular pops up more than all the others.

Her chest seems to explode in time with the lone firework in the sky and Jemma is overwhelmed by the onslaught of _Fitz._

Because she _knows_ it’s Fitz.

There’s not a single doubt in her mind and the surge of emotions that she’s bombarded with have Jemma on her feet in seconds. The combination of relief, joy, and excitement are strong, but nothing is quite as overpowering as the love that rushes into her at the understanding that Fitz had never given up. He’d kept fighting and now he’s _here_ on this planet that nearly destroyed her, prepared to take her home. 

The flare of hope that she’d dampened down so long ago comes surging back to her and she beckons for Will to follow as she tears down the dune they’ve been sitting on and runs towards Fitz.


	12. Reality

**Waking Up**

She wakes up with a gasp, shiv in hand with her legs and body tangled in soft cotton. There’s not a single granule of sand, nothing scratching against her skin, and Jemma feels disoriented by the softness that surrounds her. 

There’s a fleeting moment of panic until she spots Fitz sitting on the floor by her bedside and the sight seems to instantly soothe her building anxiety. She clambers out of the first real bed she’s slept on in months and makes her way to the floor, far preferring to fall asleep with the feeling of Fitz beneath her.

 

**Vitamin D**  

She almost cries the first time she steps out into the sun. 

Not because it’s beautiful, and everything she’d dreamed of on that hellhole, but because it’s _too much._ It’s blinding to her and she can barely keep her eyes open long enough to appreciate the light. It _hurts_ and, despite months missing it, she can’t help but view it as an unpleasant nuisance now. 

There’s also the panging of hurt and guilt that fills her at the realization that she’d _meant_ to see the sun for the first time in months with _Will_. Her diligent research had provided them the opportunity to sit and watch the sunrise together, to bask in the miracle of the yellow orb and enjoy the relationship that their circumstances had created. 

Which makes it even more sickening that she’s _actually_ seeing it with Fitz by her side. 

Because she’s so incandescently _happy_ to be with Fitz, to have the warmth of his hand blend with the coolness of her own where they’re joined together, but the guilt and self-reproach is all too consuming and Jemma can’t quite stop herself from embracing the pain and torment. She’s barely spoken since being pulled from that well for fear of confessing all of the ways she’d given up hope, given up on _him,_ and given into something, _someone_ else. 

The sun that she’d so longed for during her time away is now nothing more than a physical embodiment of her guilt. 

Her guilt for leaving Will behind, and her guilt for leaving Fitz behind first.

 

**Conversation**  

The fleeting exchanges she has with her friends and colleagues can’t really be classified as conversations because much of them are entirely one-sided. Jemma finds that she far prefers listening to talking and, though oftentimes the noise is overpowering, she quickly discovers that the longing she’d felt on the planet, the desire to hear the voices of the most important people in her life, was entirely justified. 

There’s something calming about the heated marital arguments of Lance and Bobbi. Skye’s offer to listen is appreciated, but her willingness to discuss topics that others are avoiding is something that Jemma is even more grateful for. Coulson barks orders left and right and, while none are directed at her, the familiarity grounds her and keeps her mind on the present. But nothing relaxes her quite like Fitz. He’s perceptive enough to know when she needs him to prattle on, to convince her that this is real and she’s no longer on that planet, and when she needs him to simply remain silent and let her adjust to her surroundings without the addition of another sound.

 

**Dinner**  

Their first dinner is like everything and nothing she’d imagined. The restaurant is gorgeous, Fitz looks every bit as handsome as she’d assumed he would, and the expensive bottle of wine is standing upright on their table. 

But instead of laughter and carefree conversation, there are tears and a suffocating feeling of guilt. The butterflies of her imagination is the sickening churning of reality and the feeling only grows when Fitz makes his way around the table and wraps a comforting arm around her shoulders. 

She feels both grateful and disgusted by the action because _nothing_ has ever made her feel quite as safe as Fitz, but at this moment she feels entirely undeserving of his unrelenting compassion. The secrets are eating at her and, as she allows herself to sob into Fitz’s chest, Jemma contemplates how much longer she has until she’s forced to confess everything and lose her friend forever.

 

**Vows**  

Fitz’s vow to bring Will back completely and utterly shatters her.

 It’s said with such conviction that Jemma actually believes him, which makes it that much more painful to hear. There’s no doubt in his voice, no hesitation with his willingness to help, and Jemma feels as though she’s being crushed by him. Being crushed _by_ him while simultaneously crushing him herself. 

Because after _everything,_ Fitz is still here, with her, promising things that are likely destroying him. 

She can see the flicker of hurt in his expression before he covers it up with pure determination, and Jemma finds that the brief moment of relief at the prospect of rescuing Will pales in comparison to the guilt, grief, and raw ache that fills her at Fitz’s promise. 

Fitz who’d held a reservation for six _months,_ now vowing to bring back the man she’s only known for a fraction of that time.

 

**Home**  

It’s selfish, and somewhat cowardly, but Jemma is certain that only her past self can properly convey her feelings to Fitz. Their conversations of late have come in awkward starts and stops, largely due to the looming NASA astronaut in the room, and she knows that, in her current state, she’s entirely unable to articulate her jumbled emotions. 

She doesn’t hold her breath when she passes him her phone, knows that as good as he is, it’s likely that nothing will be recovered, but she still hopes that he’ll find enough to understand just how pivotal he was to her survival. 

When she’s peering through the lone Eastern-facing window of the Playground, she doesn’t have to turn around to know that the steps behind her belong to Fitz. She doesn’t _have_ to, but she still does. After 6 months without him, Jemma finds that she’s welcoming any opportunity to simply look at him. 

She feels something lurch when he says that he’s recovered much of her planetary data, a flicker of excitement building when he mentions a lead that seems to be snuffed out immediately when Fitz brings up the recordings and videos her past self had despondently recorded. 

She’s been warring with herself since handing Fitz the phone, a part of her hoping he’d discover her confessions and another wishing he wouldn’t, but when he brings up Perthshire Jemma feels an immeasurable sense of relief. 

Because now he _knows._

He understands what he means to her and that she’s never _really_ been able to imagine a future without him. But in the next moment he’s making excuses on her behalf, downplaying her dreams and attributing them to physical and emotional decay, and Jemma feels something in her snap. 

Because Perthshire isn’t something that just happened to spring to her mind on that planet. It wasn’t the result of dehydration or exhaustion. It wasn’t a random straw she was grasping at during the lowest point of her life. 

The idea of _Fitz_ and Perthshire, and a life of growing old together, is something that has steadily been growing in her mind for nearly a decade and Jemma won’t let him make it insignificant. She won’t let him take this dream, this secret desire that she’d buried within the recesses of her mind for _years,_ and remove himself from it. 

Because since the very first utterance of, “FitzSimmons,” she’d known that the man beside her would be beside her forever. 

She makes sure Fitz understands her when she admits that Perthshire wasn’t a delusion of that planet, it was a clear-headed and rational admission and it has always included him.

 

**Kiss**  

Somewhat surprisingly their first kiss _does_ happen in the lab. What’s equally surprising is the fact that it’s _Fitz_ who catches _her_ off guard and takes the initiative. 

Jemma doesn’t see it coming, too busy mentally coming up with all of the things to counter Fitz’s self-doubt, and gasps at the press of his lips against her own. All thoughts leave her mind as he pushes her against the lab station and she can just _barely_ make out the sound of something crashing to the floor over the heavy thumping of her heart. The kiss ends just as quickly as it began, with Fitz pulling away sharply just as Jemma decides what to do with her hands, and they’re left in another awkward limbo, full of uncertainty and every emotion under the sun. 

A million thoughts run through her mind, but the only one that Jemma can really settle on is the fact that that kiss had settled everything for her, had put an end to the white noise that follows her and tampered the tension that is now a constant in her body. The moment Fitz’s lips had pressed against her, everything within her had grown quiet and Jemma wants to bask in the silence. 

So she moves forward, grasping Fitz’s face between her hands, and presses against him with a certainty that she’s never felt about anything. This kiss is slower than the first one, a conscious decision rather than one fueled by emotions, and Jemma finds that the movement of Fitz’s lips beneath her own is enough to cause her mind to go blissfully blank. 

The only thought she has is Fitz and the only emotion she feels is love.

 

**Stars**  

She’s sitting in one of the chairs in the lounge of Zephyr One, peering out the window and trying desperately to compartmentalize all of the emotions swarming within her. The guilt and pain at realizing that Will once again hadn’t made it off the planet fighting admirably against the winning emotions of relief and gratitude that Fitz _had._

She can’t properly describe the feeling that had been swarming within her until she’d spotted Fitz, a combination of complete terror and agony, and the way her entire body seemed to collapse within itself as she realized he was alive and as okay as one could be after being transported to and from another planet with a squad of Hydra soldiers and _Ward._

The guilt and sadness over Will had come second, something that Jemma has been ruminating in her mind since detaching herself from the rest of the team and sequestering herself in this empty lounge. She hadn’t thought she could feel any more guilty than she already had where Fitz and Will were concerned, but the comprehension that, in that moment where she first saw Fitz alive and well in front of her, she didn’t even think of Will dead and decaying _away_ from her, brought forth a new level of self-reproach that Jemma had been hoping to avoid.

She hastily wipes away the tears on her cheeks that now seem like a permanent fixture, tucking further into herself and staring fixedly out the window in the hopes that it might provide a brief respite from the equally permanent ache within her. 

It doesn’t. 

The night sky is clear, riddled with stars that make Jemma slightly nauseous as she contemplates whether or not any of _them_ have ancient portals laying in wait to muck up another hapless individual’s life. Her eyes flit from each small speck of light, a visual disservice to the enormous balls of gas that they represent, and she briefly wonders what her father would think of her now. 

What would he say if he knew of all the things she had and _hadn’t_ done? What would he think of the people she’d saved and those she’d directly and indirectly destroyed? How could he possibly look at her with anything other than disappointment? 

She doesn’t even bother wiping away the tears this time. 

Her sniffles seem to echo in the empty room and Jemma doesn’t even attempt to try and mask the building sobs. She cries for some unknown period of time until the choked gasps abate into quieter whimpers. Her arms wrap tighter around her legs and she goes through the calming techniques Dr. Garner had given her before he’d transformed into a psychotic murderer. 

The repetitive breathing soothes her enough that she no longer feels as though she might collapse from the physical and emotional strain of the past few hours. It isn’t enough to lessen the _years_ of physical and emotional strain that’s loomed over her since joining Coulson’s team, but at the very least it lulls her into an oddly foggy state that is distracting enough to wipe her mind of most thoughts. 

The silence that engulfs the room doesn’t last long. Though, surprisingly, it lasts far longer than perhaps Jemma would have _expected_ it to. 

She hears the footsteps immediately and just as quickly deciphers whom they belong to. She’s not the least bit surprised when she sees Fitz gingerly lowers himself into the chair across from her. She _is_ a bit surprised to see that his arm is in a sling and a smattering of butterfly bandages are pressed across his face. 

She momentarily wonders if the debriefing she’d snuck out of would have explained Fitz’s state, but is too upset in general for her curiosity to surpass the misery she feels at the physical reminder of what he’s gone through because of _her_ to wind up in such a state. Her eyes flit across his face, cataloguing each of the injuries that she’s responsible for, and she feels the tears well up in her eyes once more. 

Fitz must see the despondency of her expression because he immediately moves to stand up to comfort her, only stopping when she waves him off. She’s crumbled too much tonight already and she knows that any contact with Fitz will likely cause her to tumble over the edge once again. That, in addition to the fact that her emotions are still wholly jumbled, makes her hastily brush at her face once more and turn her gaze back to the window, studiously ignoring the openly concerned expression of the man across from her. 

Thankfully, Fitz (as always) knows her better than anyone, and doesn’t press her now despite the questions she can practically _feel_ rolling off of him in wave after wave. Instead, she watches him settle into his chair and look pensively out of the window as he runs his unencumbered hand through his hair with an exhausted sigh. 

Her mind begins whirring as she tries to think of something to fill the monumental silence, not necessarily _wanting_ to but feeling as though, after _everything,_ this moment is deserving of _something._ She comes up blank though, entirely unable to think of anything that might do justice to Fitz and _this_ and everything that’s happened since she’d first whispered _maybe there is._

Her mouth opens and closes of it’s own volition but nothing comes out and Jemma once again begins to feel that crushing sense of failure. 

“Cassiopeia.” 

Jemma’s head snaps towards the direction of the soft whisper, expecting to catch sight of Fitz’s blue eyes but instead seeing the stubble on his turned jaw as he peers out the window. She follows his gaze, glancing out her own small porthole and immediately zeroing in on the named constellation. It only takes a moment for Jemma to realize what it is that Fitz is doing and she once again feels her eyes begin to water as she comprehends the fact that he’s using their past to distract her from the present. 

Jemma’s silent for a long moment and she can sense that Fitz is waiting on her to make any indication of her state, whether it be through silence or a challenging response. She takes a deep breath, eyes flitting through the expanse outside before turning towards her friend with a tremulous smile and saying, “Perseus.”

 

**Tyke**

 The sight of Hunter drunkenly stumbling down the hallway with his arm thrown across Bobbi’s shoulder for support would have been _much_ funnier to Jemma if it weren’t for the fact that _Fitz_ is seemingly just as drunk and immobile where he’s pressed against Daisy’s side. 

“Jesus how much did you two drink?!” 

Jemma can just barely make out Daisy’s groan as the other woman shifts slightly under Fitz and attempts to make it easier to tug him behind Bobbi and Hunter. The sight spurs her into action and Jemma moves fully out of her room down the hall to help corral the men into their respective beds. 

Daisy’s look of relief when she appears is all Jemma needs before she’s moving to Fitz’s other side and tugging his other arm around her shoulders as she attempts to carry some of his dead weight. The movement causes Fitz’s lolling head to shift in her direction and Jemma inhales sharply at the complete desolation that she sees behind his eyes. 

They hadn’t talked, _really_ talked, in nearly two weeks. Due largely in part to the fact that he’s been working non-stop with Coulson on some secret project, but _mostly_ because she’s sequestered herself in her room in an attempt to grieve and process in private. She’s been avoiding everyone, Fitz specifically, and the emotions playing on his face makes it clear that their separation has hurt more than just her. He’s looking at her with a combination of earnestness and raw pain and she can only maintain eye contact for a brief second before she has to focus her eyes elsewhere. 

“J’ma. M’sorry. I _tried._ I really tried.” 

The pain in his voice causes her chest to constrict and Jemma knows immediately what it is Fitz is apologizing for, what it is that he’d tried to do. She notices the way that Daisy and Bobbi both stiffen slightly, dutifully tilting their heads away and giving her and Fitz what little privacy is manageable in such a situation. Still, she’s not going to have this conversation with an audience and a _drunk_ Fitz, so she just shifts her gaze forward and continues tugging him towards his quarters. 

“Oy! Said ‘e was _sorry_ S’mns. Meant it too for some reason. Bloody ‘ell you could at _least_ ackledge… nowledge… ack _nowledge_ ‘im.” 

She stiffens slightly at the drunken slurring that she hears come from the other side of Bobbi and feels the way that Fitz’s grip on her shoulder seems to tighten infinitesimally at the affronted words of his friend. 

“Oh my _god_ Hunter. Shut _up!_ ” 

The exclamation leaves both Bobbi and Daisy’s mouths simultaneously and Jemma likely would have smiled were it not for the topic of conversation that this situation has drudged up. 

“Wha’?! C’mon! My mate’s been a wreck! Hafta look after ‘im. Bros before hoes, Bob.” 

“Oh Jesus.” 

Daisy’s muttering doesn’t quite drown out the sound of Bobbi smacking her ex and current on the back of the head, the loud thwack echoing in the otherwise silent hallway. Similarly, Hunter’s indignant squawk doesn’t do enough to stop, “ _my mate’s been a wreck,”_ from playing on a loop in Jemma’s head. She’s certain her fellow Brit is not exaggerating, all too aware of the downward spirals Fitz tends to find himself in when shouldering a weight that isn’t his to bear, and the way the _mate_ in question tenses at the words only confirms how on the mark they really are. 

Jemma’s chest seems to tighten even more, a real feat considering she’s felt as though she’s been suffocating since she’d first returned to Earth, and her breathing grows shallower with each forward step. She can hear Bobbi whispering heatedly in Hunter’s ear, no doubt chastising him for his lack of decorum and general bluntness, but she makes no attempt to actually make out the words. Instead, she works on her breathing exercises and concentrates on putting one foot in front of the other. 

When the group reaches Bobbi and Hunter’s quarters, the former turns to Jemma with an apologetic look and a roll of the eyes. “He’s such a _child._ Honestly. Sometimes I feel more like his babysitter than his girlfriend.” 

Hunter gives her a petulant look at that before narrowing his eyes and saying, “ _Ex-_ girlfriend.” 

Bobbi just rolls her eyes in response to the remark, patting Hunter lightly on the head as she reminds him, “Ex- _wife._ Current girlfriend.” Jemma just barely makes out Lance’s answering, “Right,” as he and Bobbi make it into their room and shut the door behind them. 

Oddly enough, their departure seems to simultaneously lessen and ratchet up the tension. While Hunter is no longer present to drunkenly draw attention to the elephant, rather, the dead space boyfriend, in the room, his absence causes a looming silence to wash over the remaining trio that makes Jemma more anxious than before.

It’s only when Fitz seems to drop lower, his weight suddenly feeling a thousand times heavier, that she and Daisy resume their slow walk towards his bedroom. Her arm is wrapped tightly around Fitz’s waist, brushing against Daisy’s where it’s firmly gripping from the other side, and Jemma can’t help but remember the _last_ time the three of them had drunkenly stumbled to their rooms together. 

_Then_ had been filled with jovial laughter and a carefree attitude. _Now_ is filled with a tense silence and an all-consuming feeling of not knowing what to say. It remains during the twenty-seven steps it takes to get from Hunter’s door to Fitz’s and Jemma finds that the feeling of hopelessness grows the closer they get to the room. 

Apparently the doorframe is as far as Daisy thinks she needs to go, because the moment they reach the threshold, she slides out from beneath Fitz’s arm and gives Jemma a comforting squeeze of the shoulder. An indefinable look crosses her face and in the next moment Daisy’s stepping forward and wrapping the both of them in a tight hug that causes Jemma’s throat to close up. It’s almost an unspoken understanding, an acknowledgement of the silence and the tension, and Jemma appreciates the gesture more than she can ever say. 

In the next instant Daisy is stepping away with what Jemma swears is a sniffle, scurrying down the hallway and escaping whatever awkwardness she assumes might follow the impromptu group hug. 

Luckily for Jemma, Fitz is too far gone to even _register_ the awkwardness, stumbling forward as she guides him towards his bed. He collapses on top of it unceremoniously, holding out his legs and waiting for Jemma to tug his shoes off his feet much like he did after rowdy nights in the Boiler Room. She does so quickly, studiously keeping her gaze on the various inanimate objects in the room as Fitz tugs off his shirt and trousers, and pulls the covers snug around him once he’s in his sleepwear. 

She reaches around his frame, tucking the blanket around him the way she knows his mother used to and coming to an abrupt halt when she hears the somber, “M’sorry Jem,” reach her ears. 

She still feels wholly unequipped to handle this, not even _close_ to being ready to have this conversation with the man staring up at her with such sorrow, so she gives him a tight smile and gives into her selfish desire to run her fingers through his hair. “Shh. I know Fitz. We’ll… we’ll talk about it later. I promise. Just… get some sleep now, okay?” 

He stares at her through bleary eyes for a long moment, as though trying to decipher the truthfulness of her words, before nodding his head slowly with a small sigh. “’Kay.” 

Jemma has to physically restrain herself from kissing his forehead when he burrows deeper under his covers and instead opts for bustling around his room and gathering all the things he might need during, and immediately following, his drunkenness. She places a glass of water and a few ibuprofen tablets on his bedside table to avoid a hangover, and an empty basin on the floor to avoid ruining his bedding as the result of any potential sickness. 

When she feels as though all of the necessary supplies are at least in _reaching_ distance to Fitz, Jemma let’s out a long breath and moves towards his door. She pulls on the doorknob and is just about to head back to her own room when she pauses and turns back to look at her friend. He’s lying on his back, an arm slung over his eyes, and Jemma worries her lip as she contemplates whether or not what she has to say is worth potentially waking him up. 

“Fitz?” 

Her voice rings out in the small room and the man in question is immediately shifting, moving his arm and staring at her with glazed eyes that only seem to be bluer in this intoxicated state. 

“Mmmm?” 

Jemma pauses for a moment, a million thoughts running through her head as she tries to figure out the right words, but when the silence lasts too long and Fitz begins to look worried, she takes a shaky breath and looks at him sincerely. 

“We’re going to be okay I think.” 

He blinks a few times at this, as though he’s not entirely sure he’s heard her correctly, but then he’s clumsily propping himself on elbow and looking at her with that same tentative hesitancy that now seems to be synonymous with _Fitz._ “Yeah?” 

Jemma nods her head immediately, with a certainty that she hasn’t felt for a long time, before vocalizing her response in case he couldn’t make out her movement in the dark. “Yeah.” 

“Even though we’re cursed?” 

Jemma wants to remind him that there’s no such thing as curses, to roll her eyes and scoff at his absurd question, but the look on Fitz’s face stops her in her tracks and she instead finds every logical rebuttal stick in her throat. She peers at him, wide eyes and hesitant expression that’s seemingly now etched onto his face, and all Jemma can do is give him a watery smile. 

“We broke the curse Fitz.” 

She watches him sit up straighter at this, brows furrowing in confusion as he clearly tries to sift through the memories in his mind to find whichever one could be significant enough to break a curse. He must not be able to find one though because when his gaze meets hers again, it’s still clouded in uncertainty. “We did? When?” 

Jemma gives him another watery smile, this one paired with a few of her signature tears, and raises her voice a bit so that he can hear the truth of her words. “When you came back to me. The cosmos must want us together after all.” 

She can’t quite tell in the darkness, but she swears that Fitz’s own eyes grow a bit shinier at her words, a slow smile working its way across his face as he processes them. Jemma gives him another soft smile, full of the love that she’s always had for him, before whispering, “Goodnight Fitz, I’ll see you in the morning,” into the darkness and shutting the door behind her.

 

**Unison**  

Their relationship is slow to rebuild, there are awkward stops and starts and for a long while they’re Fitz and Simmons more often than not, the _and_ a clear indicator of the damage that actually _did_ manage tear them apart for a bit. 

There’s a fair amount of yelling, an even _larger_ amount of crying, but somehow they once again manage to make it out the other end, not unscathed but carefully stitched back together with each of them tightly holding the needle and thread. 

They’re in the lab now, steadily adapting to their new normal, and Jemma feels lighter than she has in months. Fitz is babbling on about their newest project and Jemma doesn’t even think when she finishes his sentences with an approving nod as she jots down notes on the side of his drafting paper. It grows silent for a short moment and Jemma glances up at Fitz with a questioning expression that grows even more confused at the sight of the smile on his face, somehow simultaneously hesitant and positively beaming. 

She raises a brow at him and he just shakes his head, small smile still in place, before launching back into their discussion. They begin talking in unison once more and a minute into their latest round of bickering, Jemma forgets about Fitz’s odd reaction. She forgets until the two of them walk into the common area, still talking over each other at once, and she spots Daisy’s eyes welling up with tears, Coulson and Mack giving approving nods, Hunter and Bobbi exchanging a giddy high-five, and May smiling _with teeth._

She pulls up short at the sight, instantly growing silent and staring with wide eyes at the people in front of her. When she looks back at Fitz, he seems just as pleased as everyone else, and Jemma (for one of the few times in her life) finds herself at a complete and utter loss. She looks to Fitz for help and he opens his mouth, hopefully to clue her in on what the bloody hell is going on, but before he can utter a single word an excited, “FitzSimmons!” breaks the silence of the room. 

With that single utterance Jemma suddenly realizes why the pleased smile has been firmly affixed on Fitz’s face all day, she understands the varying degrees of delight on her friends’ faces, and she puts together the fact that there is no longer an _and_ separating her name from Fitz’s. 

It’s a realization that causes her cheeks to pinken, and she murmurs a quiet, “Excuse me,” before turning around and heading towards her bedroom before her friends are forced to once again see her cry. 

She’s only curled up on her bed for a minute or two before she hears the quiet knock at the door. She doesn’t respond, too focused on curling tighter around her pillow, but she doesn’t have to because in the next moment the door is creaking open and Fitz is moving into the room. He shuts the door quickly behind him before leaning against it and looking at her with worried eyes. 

Jemma wants to assure him that she’s fine, that she’ll _be_ fine, but she suddenly feels more vulnerable than she has in her entire life and, instead of speaking, she holds out her arms with a sniffle that turns into a choking sob when Fitz immediately makes his way across the room and tugs her against him as he curls up next to her. 

She’s not certain how long she cries for but she _is_ certain that she’s never felt more safe as she does curled up in Fitz’s arms as he strokes her hair and murmurs soothing words of affection and support. When the sobs turn back to sniffles, and her tears begin to dry, Jemma burrows further into Fitz and tightens her arms around him as much as she can. 

“I missed you.” 

She’s not entirely sure he’s heard her, words whispered and muffled by his shirt, but then she feels a pressure on her forehead where Fitz’s lips press against it and Jemma’s certain that he has. 

He’s heard her and, more importantly, he seems to _understand_ her. As he always does. 

He tugs her tighter against his chest, contorting their bodies for maximum snuggling comfort, and Jemma feels the last bit of tension she’s been lugging behind her fade away with each stroke of her hair. She feels her eyes drift closed at the feeling of being completely and utterly wrapped up in Fitz and lets out a contented hum when he manages to tug the comforter over them without jostling her in the process. 

When she wakes up the next morning, Fitz is out cold beneath her and Jemma takes the opportunity to watch him and catalogue everything about this moment. The way his stubble seems to glint in the artificial light of the bedside lamp, each inhalation of breath, and the way that he’s still clutching at her, even in sleep. 

Perhaps the thing that she _most_ wishes to memorize is the overwhelming feeling of clarity that consumes her. 

The thought has been ruminating in her mind since she’d first told Fitz that they’d be okay weeks ago and now she’s finally certain that she’d been speaking the truth. They _are_ going to be okay, more than okay if she’s being honest, and this moment now only confirms that. She and Fitz will be just fine, _better_ than fine, and whether it’s tonight or a month from now, they’ll begin working on all of the things that Jemma had dreamed of while away. 

They’ll have a dinner that doesn’t end in tears, they’ll do more than just _talk_ about Perthshire, and, eventually, Jemma is pretty certain that one day they _will_ wake up to the pitter patter of little feet attached to chubby legs. 

They’d been ripped apart by all the elements and the bloody cosmos themselves but had fought them all, _together._

And they’ll keep fighting, side-by-side, as always. As _FitzSimmons_.


End file.
